


Guardians of Nosgoth: Time Streamer

by thats_a_moray



Series: Guardians of Nosgoth [1]
Category: Legacy of Kain
Genre: Adventure, Angst and Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, Friendship/Love, Grief/Mourning, Grimdark, Guilt, Multi, Post-Canon, Sexual Content, Time Travel Shenanigans, Trauma, Vampires, new pillar guardians, world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-10-16 10:21:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17547866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thats_a_moray/pseuds/thats_a_moray
Summary: The Pillars are restored and somehow Raziel is chosen to be Time Guardian. While Kain struggles to gather the new Circle from the ruins of his nearly destroyed empire Raziel is tormented by disastrous visions of the future, yet still haunted by grief for his clan and Janos Audron. Bitter memories resurface and force them to part ways as Raziel delves into Nosgoth's history in search of the secrets to Moebius' power. Can Raziel save Nosgoth's future while he's shackled by the past?





	1. Death and Rebirth

> “The most important thing I learned on Tralfamadore was that when a person dies he only appears to die. He is still very much alive in the past, so it is very silly for people to cry at his funeral. All moments, past, present and future, always have existed, always will exist. The Tralfamadorians can look at all the different moments just that way we can look at a stretch of the Rocky Mountains, for instance. They can see how permanent all the moments are, and they can look at any moment that interests them. It is just an illusion we have here on Earth that one moment follows another one, like beads on a string, and that once a moment is gone it is gone forever.” _-_ Kurt Vonnegut, _Slaughterhouse-Five_

 

Inside the Soul Reaver Raziel discovered a new kind of death. Emptiness descended upon him absolutely, smothering every light, crushing every shadow, and grinding down his very soul until until he was less than dust. All was void and abyss. Wind blew toward the abyss, toward the End of All Things, and carried eerie voices-without-voices. No, this force was more like gravity. It pulled instead of pushed and its course was unquestionable.

 A familiar presence shivered through the void. This spirit coursed around him, shielding him against the tide of ultimate destruction. If light existed here, she would have blinded.

 Raziel tried to speak. “I know you.”

 The spirit did not reply. Perhaps she did not hear him.

 “Ariel… I thought we were gone.”

 He longed to touch her. When he tried to move his limbs his intentions met with quiet absense, for he was no more.

 “Please say something. It’s so hard to focus here. I don’t know how long I can keep speaking…” The words slipped away, lost in the nothingness.

 He tried to imagine how she looked the last time he saw her, in the heart of the Spirit Forge. The rags that wrapped her spirit glowed a brilliant white, tattered but pure, her face unblemished and whole, almost alive. The touch of her hand as her soul rushed through him and into the wraith blade felt cool and rejuvenating. If he concentrated could almost feel it now. But that was fading. Everything was fading.

 Somewhere a familiar voice murmured. The voice sounded muffled, separated behind walls of steel. He cried out to that voice but received no reply. There was no way to reach Kain from inside the sword. Raziel gave up. Only Ariel's company mattered now. Everything else felt too distant.

 “I don’t know if you can hear me, Ariel. I hope you’re listening. I did as you asked. I did it willingly, even though it cost me my life… such as it was....” He remembered that blue, mutilated corpse with an imagined shudder. “I know I deserve no forgiveness for the wicked things I’ve done… I am so sorry for so many things I cannot change… but I hope this, at last, redeems Nosgoth. I hope my life won’t have been in vain. I hope I gave it purpose at the end."

 Now Raziel thought of his wives, his sons and daughters, the Razielim; all of them wiped off the face of Nosgoth following his execution at the hands of his vampiric brothers and Kain. He possessed no memories of his human life. After his brothers, his clan was the closest he ever knew to family. He anguished to see them again, but he had walked beyond the veil of death before and knew no loved ones waited there. Certainly not here, inside the Soul Reaver.

 Time ceased to exist. The pull of the vortex strengthened, stretching his consciousness thin. It did not hurt. Stubbornly, he tried to sigh. This must be the end at last.

 “I’m ready to go this time…”

 “Not yet, Raziel.”

 “Ariel?”

 “This is my final gift to you.”

 “I don’t understand…”

 As she spoke her voice quieted, slipping away. “The Scion of Balance has nearly reached his goal… Do you feel them, Raziel? The Pillars are calling us home. All shall be healed… yet there may still be work for the Scion and you, before the coming spring...”

 Raziel felt himself slipping faster. Panic took hold. If he must go to oblivion, it would be so much easier to go together. He could not even fathom the isolation. It would drive him mad before his final moments. “No, please, don’t leave me!”

 The undertow laxed, as if sated, and the voices of the void died beneath an immense silence. It was not even silence. It was beyond silence. Ariel no longer existed. He wanted to flail against the void, to strangle and beat it back, but he had no body and no means to fight or flee. Light slapped across his senses like splattered blood. Suddenly he felt his own voice tearing through his throat. He gasped. Dry, dusty air filled his lungs to bursting. He coughed reflexively as each breath shot an arc of pain through a body writhing with sensations. Stomach empty, throat a dry waste, head caught in the grip of some invisible demon, lost and naked in a world too big and too full of light. Indeed, he was _naked._ His cowl and other artifacts of undeath were gone He curled up in a ball and whimpered for everything to stop.

 Raziel blinked and squinted as his eyes tried to focus. A veil of messy black hair shielded his sensitive eyes from the white bloom. Out of the glow an object appeared in front of him, taking up most of his field of vision. Metallic. White stone and metal. A kind of support structure - a pillar? He lifted his head off the ground, tilting slowly to minimize the pain, yet his gaze could not find the apex. Groaning, he pushed with one arm and tumbled onto his back. Covering his eyes with his tridactyle talons, blocking out the worst of the sun, he squinted at the edifice rising above him.

 Eight white pillars stood around him in a crescent. One stood apart from the crescent, making nine. Together they pierced a hole through the smoky sky, a circle of vivid blue, and vanished beyond his scope of vision. Awe stilled him. These were the Pillars of Nosgoth, whole and uncorrupted.

 He moved his head a little more. To one side stood the Pillar of Balance, surrounded by the shattered remains of Kain’s throne - this was the Sanctuary of the Clans - and on the other stood the Pillar of Time, recognizable by the hourglass symbol inscribed upon its yellow ring. Most of the roof was collapsed, destroyed when the Pillars rose, yet somehow the Sanctuary itself remained standing. He leaned his head back slightly and saw a hunk of rubble. Had it fallen a few feet short, it surely would have crushed him.

 A new feeling asserted itself. He swallowed painfully, gripped by that ancient hunger for blood. A tongue scratched at his lips and rolled inside his cotton mouth. Raziel blinked. He should not have a tongue. Or a mouth. Experimenting, he moved his jaw back and forth, feeling the bones click in place, and chuckled hoarsely despite the ache, "What... what is this...?"

 He lifted his hand above his head again. Alabaster skin wrapped around his thick fingers, sunlight gleamed off the points of his obsidian claws. No silt stained bones, no bloodless blue muscle. He touched his chest, feeling his strong pectoral muscles, then reached down and discovered his belly button. Raziel clenched his teeth in a tight grin. It hurt to laugh.

 Something sharp and bony dug into his shoulders. The source of his annoyance lay beneath him, sandwiched between his bare back and the ground. He sniffled, swallowing his laughter and tears, and lifted himself as much as he could manage. Balanced on his elbows, he turned his head and saw…

 His eyes widened.

 No...

 Surely not...

 Surely...

 Behind him lay a pair of pale batlike wings. A freckled membrane draped over the three long wing bones, folded at the wrists. Raziel wailed, trembling with rapture. These wings - these were _his wings!_ He tried to move them. As his wing bones opened and closed he screamed at the earth, laughing and sobbing, utterly broken by joy.

 Could all this be real? What happened last? In the Spirit Forge he tricked Kain into impaling him with the Reaver. Kain tried to pull it out, but Raziel held the flamberge inside and convinced him that it needed to happen, that only his joining with the Reaver could restore the Pillars. As the Reaver absorbed his soul, becoming the Soul Reaver, everything went dark. Then... then... not nothing, _something_...

 Raziel felt light headed. Vampires did not normally feel the need to sleep except before entering the state of change or while suffering a grievous wound, such as the loss of a limb. Since Raziel’s execution in the Lake of the Dead he had been incapable of rest. His wrath form rejected sleep entirely. Now, for the first time in centuries, his eyes closed against his will. The sensation reminded him of a pleasant kind of dying. Sinking onto his side, he thought it would be nice to let go of the world again.

 Something heavy crashed inside the throne room, foiling Raziel's attempt at rest. He struggled to regain focus. Though the ruins blocked his view, he did not need to guess who was responsible for intruding on his peace. It was always the same. When he tried to get their attention his voice barely cracked above a whisper. "Kain... Kain. Kain!"

 Raziel recognized the clink of steel as Kain readied his weapon. "Who's there? Identify yourself or die."

 Taking a deep breath, he summoned his strength and called as loudly as he could, "Who do you think, you bastard!"

 There was no response. Instead there came a harsh scraping of stone upon stone as Kain shoved through to the Pillars. He scaled the rubble, the red banner of the vampire empire flowing from his shoulder, one hand poised to draw the weapon from his back. That hand faltered. He could not see Kain’s eyes beneath that ridged and crowned brow, he could only listen in bittersweet relief as Kain’s voice changed from tyrant to father. "Raziel…? Raziel! What in Hell are you doing here!?"

 Before he could find his voice, Kain wrenched him up under the arms. The Pillars spun and the floor seemed to drop. When his senses returned he found himself lying across Kain’s knees, head throbbing, talons clenching the strap across Kain's chest above that old scar. Kain supported his head with one hand. His long white hair frayed about his horns, out of place, and his armor stank of dead blood, earth, and some spectral substance that reminded Raziel of awaking undead in the Abyss. Kain chuckled, “Welcome back. You almost had me worried. Can you stand?”

 “Yes,” Raziel wheezed, glaring. His vision faded out again as he tried to pull himself up, accompanied by a confusing sinking sensation. Through a sliver of blurry sight he Kain pulling off a glove with his teeth. His voice sounded miles away.

 “Easy, that’s enough. You can relax. Yes, there’s a good lad. Now drink this while you still have your wits.”

Kain bit into his wrist, splitting the hard skin with his fangs. The scent of fresh blood jolted Raziel out of torpor. As Kain pressed the wound to his lips he lapped the cold, unsavory blood like a fledgling, digging into the opening with his teeth to delay it from closing. He grasped the back of Kain’s wrist and fought to hold it in place as Kain yanked it away all too soon. Raziel blinked, eyes slowly coming into focus. He tried to say something appropriate. “Damn...”

 Kain shook off his hand as if in disgust. After the wound sealed he stopped and gazed up at the Pillars towering above the Sanctuary. Whether it was reverence or pride, Raziel could only guess. This was Kain’s moment of triumph, the payout of his epic gamble against the powers of history and destiny. Raziel wished he could share his victory. All he wanted in that moment was to find a dark, cozy place to sleep and forget everything.

 "Hell of a sight, aren't they?" Kain whispered.

 Raziel tried clearing his throat. "Nearly killed me, I think. They split your throne."

 "So they did. I'll have to find a better spot for the next one." A joke? Kain continued, half talking to himself, “There is a chamber below us where the roots of the Pillars cross with a second dias and descend deep into the earth. In that same room stands a dilapidated alter with a keyhole designed to accommodate the purified Soul Reaver. That was all it took.”

 Raziel knew the area Kain spoke of, one of his earliest discoveries in ancient Nosgoth and the first clue that ultimately led him to Janos Audron and face his true destiny. He tried to suppress his thoughts of Janos. More important questions needed answering. “What about that _thing_? The parasite, the false-god?”

 “Oh, it was no match for us!” Kain smiled, yet unease tinged his bravado. Was there also a hint of sorrow? “I haven’t seen it since the Pillar’s quake. Good riddance, I hope.”

 The implication that that malevolent squid might still be worming through Nosgoth’s underbelly made Raziel sick. He shut his eyes against Kain’s chest as he struggled to put his thoughts in order. His brain felt like wet cement. For a moment he actually thought he heard Kain’s heart beating.

 Kain sighed. He pulled Raziel’s arm over his shoulders, using his other hand to support his back as he lifted him up. “You need rest. The Sanctuary may not be as luxurious as you remember but it will protect you for the time being. Are you ready to stand, Raziel?”

 Raziel gripped the strap on Kain’s shoulder for support. His legs felt as useless as his wings used to be but he did not want to be carried. “Do it.”

 As Kain stood Raziel clenched the leather strap over his shoulder, afraid he would let him fall. The tips of his toe claws dragged against the ground with each awkward step. At least Kain was quiet about it. He did not need his ‘encouragement.’ As Kain walked him something cold and hard brushed the back of his arm. At first he ignored it in favor of concentrating on his legs, until the feeling became accompanied by an familiar ghostly hum. He almost let go of Kain in fright. His vision dimmed, swirling around the Soul Reaver on Kain’s back. He only regained himself by shutting his eyes. “Kain… why am I in your sword?”

 Kain looked at him incredulously. “Clearly you are not. Pick up your feet, I won’t carry you on my back while you have legs.”

 “But why is it here!? Now!? You should have put it back!”

 Kain stopped. For a second his nostrils flared. “Would I rewrite history, sacrificing the empire I built over a thousand years, yet erase it all to keep the Soul Reaver for myself? Surely you understand I cannot do everything at once. The Soul Reaver will return to its true place in history as soon as I am able and that is all you need to know. And as for your soul, you would do well to remember why you stand here as champion. You alone stepped outside the perpetual cycle of death and revenge that traps souls within the Reaver. You made the right choice. For that I am grateful.”

 In spite of Kain’s unusually kind words the sight of the Soul Reaver still caused Raziel’s heart to quiver in dread. Maybe it was the knowledge that the deranged entity within had once been him, with all of his curiosity and ambitions, and was now no more than a ravenous, mindless shade - a victim of the wrong choice. His stomach churned from that grim reminder. “Did you kill Janos?”

 Kain looked away. This time he did not appear angry, merely disappointed. “There was something more important I needed to do. It’s best for you to forget about him.”

 Raziel suddenly vomited. He looked down at himself, the blood from Kain now dripping down his chest and trembling hand as his legs caved in and his grip gave out. Kain lunged to catch him before he fell. Whatever Kain said Raziel did not hear. The words all blurred together with the stench of blood and bile and the ringing in his ears. Maybe this time he would fade away for good. Raziel passed out.


	2. Sanctuary

Raziel awoke lying on his stomach under a veil of discolored sheets, his face hugged to an under-stuffed pillow. The unwashed stench reminded him that this was not a dream. He closed his eyes and ran his tongue across his lips. His body felt rested, a comfortable state of being he barely recognized, yet while he still burned with unquenched hunger he also stronger than he assumed he should be. He wondered where he was. Outside the safety of his soft cocoon he heard the muffled footsteps of other vampires patrolling and what sounded like construction happening several rooms down. Suddenly, Raziel remembered. 

He started to push himself up, muscles sore and stiff from inactivity. As he lifted the blanket he discovered he had been lying on a cot tucked in the corner of a vast, desolate room, which he eventually recognized as one of the Sanctuary’s guest rooms for clan patriarchs. A crude wooden stool sat near the foot of his bed. Next to it lay a couple of brass bowls. One held dried sea sponges, a product of Rahab’s clan, while the other contained a single dirty sponge and stank of dry blood. Someone must have been using these to feed him while he slept. Looking around, he noticed a cracked mirror standing near the foot of the bed. The vampire in the mirror swept aside the dark hair covering his face and stared back with wide jasmine eyes. That was him.

At no point during his time as a wraith did he actually have a body. The matter from which he formed in the material realm was borrowed substance, a durable facsimile resembling a blue carcass. Now at last he saw himself again: Kain’s handsome prince, the Razielim king. Raziel bit his lip, feeling the sting of his fangs as he looked away from the false image. 

Hunger gave him no reprieve. Trying to walk, he stumbled, slamming into the corner with a thud. He startled as the door opened and a Turelim lumbered into his room. Instinctively he tensed his right arm. No tendrils of blue light snaked down his arm. Instead of the familiar hum of his twin soul and spiritual weapon, his intentions met with defenseless silence. With nothing else at his disposal he grabbed the dirty bowl off the floor and threw it.  

While death spared Raziel from devolution, Nosgoth’s corruption transformed the children of his brother Turel into chimeric beasts with crushing jaws and upper bodies swollen with muscle. However, he knew from experience that Turelim need not fight with their bodies. Their telekentitic attacks could easily rip him in two. The Turelim ducked. As the bowl clanged off of the wall they caught it in a telekenitic grip and gently lowered it to the ground. Raziel tried to scramble backwards over the bed but his wings tangled in the sheets. He bared his fangs, shouting, “Stay back!”

The Turelim’s head snapped up, ears erect. Simple jewelry studded their ears and brow. “I am not here to kill you, Raziel.”

Their voice sounded rather softer than other Turelim he encountered in the wastes. Looking again he noticed that the straps across their flat chest had been augmented with a pair of metal plates decorated with spiral carvings. The plates curved out toward the center, suggestive of breasts. A faded floral pattern decorated the scarf they wore around their gorgot. Their boots stopped at the knees and their legs were bare except for the dark green skirt and tasset around their wide waist. A woman?

"Who are you and what do you want?" Raziel demanded.

“I am Nogah, your steward. Kain entrusted me to watch over you after your rebirth weeks ago. I must have done well, since you’ve already tried to kill me.”

Her sarcasm went unappreciated. “Where is Kain?”

She tilted her head to the side. Her face was a horrendous collision between mangy lioness and hairless vampire bat and her eyes looked like spider eggs. “Away, seeking another guardian for the Pillars. We can talk about Kain later. You must be hungry. If you get dressed I’ll have one of the guards bring you a filling meal.”

Raziel remembered he was naked. This did not embarrass him, he had been extremely naked since his execution. Besides, like most Turelim Nogah appeared to be blind. Nonetheless he requested to change in privacy. Members of her clan had ‘killed’ him so many times in the past that being alone in a room with her made him nervous.

The clothes provided for him appeared to be made with Zephonim silk. Although the robes were loose enough to cover his extra appendages, sickening memories came to the forefront of his mind when he felt something unseen brush against his wings. He withstood it for about ten seconds before pulling the garment over his head and tossing it aside The trousers fit better, but he still found the sensation peculiar. It was his face that felt exposed. He scratched at his cheek bones, anxious for blood.

A smaller vampire entered the room behind Nogah, a Dumahim. He dragged a human in by the arm.

“Take all you need from this one,” Nogah said disinterestedly as the guard tossed the slave at Raziel’s feet. “I apologize, you will have to drink less from now on. We have few capable slaves at the Sanctuary and cannot spare the healthy ones.”

The slave stumbled and smacked his head against the hard floor. His head was shaven, indicating low value, and hands tightly bound behind his back. Janos’ history taught Raziel to recognize his bloodthirst as a curse rather than a gift; however, the sentiment was not persuasive.

Lifting the slave by the collar, he bit into the jugular. Hot blood poured down his throat. Gulping, shivering with forgotten pleasure, he drank the slave until all color faded. Bloated and dazed, he dropped the empty vessel and slumped on the edge of the bed with his legs and wings splayed. The Dumahim carried away the remains and Nogah closed the door behind him. Raziel licked his lips while the taste lingered. He eyed Nogah like a rat. “You work for Kain, so tell me what he wants with me.”

“Only that you rest,” she replied, running a finger around her oversized ear. “He implied that once you woke it might be difficult to keep you in bed. If you’re feeling up to it I thought we might take a stroll around the courtyard. I’m told you can see the Pillars from there.”

“Why would I need you?”

“Many Turelim and Dumahim resent what you did to their kin. We are all well armed here.” She turned to one side, showing the battle axe on her hip. “Of course, Kain has forbidden you from carrying weapons. That is why I am here.”

“No, you’re no different from them.”

Nogah looked discouraged. “I understand why you say that. If you cannot trust me you will have to remain in this room until Kain returns, for your own safety. I’m sorry.”

Raziel leaned forward, weighing his options and keeping Nogah in his sight. If she intended to kill him she could have done it weeks ago. Still, her presence made him uneasy. He glanced around the sparse guest room and found nothing with which to occupy himself. “Fine, let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

During the centuries since his execution the abandoned Sanctuary fell into dilapidation. The clan wing where Raziel stayed must have been sacked many times, though it otherwise appeared stable. As Nogah led him to the courtyard he saw humans and Dumahim laboring to repair the damaged walls while Turelim patrolled and oversaw the work. A few vampires silently bared their teeth as Raziel passed. He started walking closer to Nogah, wings folded tight against his back.

Outside, several small shelters crowded one side of the courtyard. Dumahim milled about the shanty structures, muttering amongst themselves in their snakelike tongue. They fell silent as Raziel and Nogah passed, staring. Raziel tried to keep out of their sight. Dry, cracked earth filled spaces once reserved for gardens, watched over by long dead tree husks. In the courtyard’s center, stagnant water filled the tiers and basin of Kain’s decadent blood fountain, clogging the pipes with rust. The three muses, sensual depictions of vampiric beauty, now weeped over their empty vases, their eyes crusted in grime. Standing here, Raziel looked over the far wall where the pale Pillars rose above the Sanctuary into the clouded night.

He remembered the crisp smell of grass the first time he beheld the uncorrupted Pillars. Two thousand years ago there had been no Sanctuary. Instead of stone and granite this place had been surrounded by pine forests penetrated by the calls of wild animals and whispers of the nearby river; the sky was pure and the horizon dominated by blue mountains. The Pillars stood like a cathedral of nature’s glory. That was the world he sacrificed himself for.

Now only dusty weeds remained. The rough, grey soil scratched at his bare feet like sandpaper. Smoke obliterated the night sky, swirling around the Pillars once more. Had they won nothing?

Turning to Nogah, he regarded her silence with renewed suspicion. She did not see the Pillars. He wondered if she even knew of their importance. “You’ve been quiet.”

Her ears flicked in the direction of his voice. She sounded melancholy. “I’ve been reminiscing. It’s strange to hear your voice again.”

Raziel disliked her familial tone. “I do not know you.”

“You would recognize me if I could show you how I used to look. Klara and I were very close.”

Anger welled to the surface. Klara was not simply another Razielim among the dead. She was his queen, the matriarch of his clan and home - his best friend. “What gives you the right to call yourself her friend? How dare you even mention her name!?"

Nogah’s face fell, her sharp teeth grit in a grimace. “I had no part in what happened to your clan-!"

“Do you think I’ve forgotten whose hands bore me into the Abyss!? Who else would lead the massacre? Maybe you didn’t fight but you watched it happen, you accepted the atrocities the same as everyone!”

She flinched and turned away, ears ruefully pressed against her thick neck. He had hurt her. He thought that was what he wanted. Now that he saw how his words wounded, he realized he may have made a mistake. Klara had friends in other clans. Breathing deeply, he forced his tone to soften. “How did you know her?”

“Klara was my godsire,” she answered softly, using a term for a vampire who was not one’s sire but a benefactor to the dark gift. “I came into her possession as a girl, one of her attendants, and after a time we developed a bond.  She wanted me to have the opportunity of a life like hers. When I came of age she gifted me to Turel, seeing that I fancied him. The next time I saw the two of you, he had made me one of his wives.”

Raziel’s eyes slowly brightened. "I do remember! Klara had some horrid pet name for you before you turned. Hob, Knob..."

Nogah lifted her head with a small, hopeful smile. "Hobgoblin."

Raziel laughed. Klara always used those antiquated words for her personal attendants; Faerie, Sprite, Puck, names of imaginary creatures from ancient human folklore, house spirits. Usually he found her quirks charming. But hobgoblin was such an ugly word. All his other wives agreed, especially Frida. Soon he started hearing Hobgoblin all around his palace, Hobgoblin every night, until he even started saying Hobgoblin, and Klara reveled in it. They loved toying with each other. He felt relieved when Klara finally gave her away, but seeing Klara silently worry over her fate changed his mind. Raziel suddenly realized he was crying. He tried to hide it, but Nogah must have smelled his tears. She put her body between him and the onlooking Dumahim on the other side of the courtyard.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you!”

Raziel hunched on the edge of the blood fountain with his head in his hands. He could not remember the last time he cried like this, sobbing like a human child. Rage possessed him when he first discovered the fate of his clan. Rage and indignation were all he knew, until he met Janos. He missed Klara dearly during his long imprisonment in the spectral realm, watched constantly by the unblinking eyes of his parasitic malefactor, but had he ever truly mourned? He did not expect grief to find him now. 

“It's not your fault. To you she’s been dead for centuries but to me, I… I don’t even know. I’ve lost so much time. Tell me how she died. Please, I need to know."

Nogah hesitated. This seemed painful for her, too. “When Kain vanished the empire sought to place blame. Some of the Council believed your clan conspired against Kain after your execution, so they waited until your elders entered the state of change and attacked. I begged Turel to spare Klara but knew he would not. When the clans stormed your palace she was found already dead alongside your harem."

Without wanting to Raziel imagined Klara gathering their harem: Sarai, Frida, Justine. No, not Justine, she would have fought. He pictured Klara helping them say their goodbyes, poised and rational even in the face of death. She must have been terrified. Suicide for vampires was never easy. To die as painlessly and permanently as possible she needed a trusted servant, an axe or chopping sword, and a fire, but these required time. Klara had other options. How much time could Justine and the guards buy? By then she must have been nearing the state of change herself. He did not want to believe Justine died without making a final stand, it would have shamed her so. Raziel shut his eyes and covered his mouth. He felt like he might vomit.

Nogah’s paw squeezed his shoulder. He stirred from his thoughts, unsure of how much time had passed, and stared at the huge Turelim kneeling in front of him with tears in her eyes. "I loved her, too. At least she met death on her own terms. I know this is hard, but it was the wisest choice considering what Hell would come."

Raziel swallowed hard. This was too much. He cupped the sides of Nogah’s face, drawing her nearer, and leaned against her for support. Her arms encircled him, strong and protective. He expected to fear her. Instead, for the first time in forever, he felt as though his very existence and the future of Nosgoth did not depend on pretending to be invulnerable. Biting his tongue, he hugged his arms around her sturdy neck. His frail voice sounded like a stranger. "Thank you... no one would tell me. I should not have judged you so harshly."

“Never mind, my grief is nothing compared to what you must feel. Whatever you need, if it’s in my power, you may have it.”

Raziel shook his head, wiping the back of his hand across his cheeks. “No, had our paths crossed before I would have destroyed you.”

"I doubt that," she replied with gentle humor. Her milky eyes still held tears. "In either case,Turel would have done the same in your position. We all would. The others wish to forget that.”

“They are right to hate me. Revenge is pointless. Part of me always knew - each time I had Kain in my grasp something always held me back, even after I slaughtered my brothers without mercy. What would I have to live for after killing him? Nothing!"

“Hush,” Nogah cooed. She took off her scarf and pressed it to his cheek, giving it to him so that he could wipe away his tears. “Your actions were noble and served a greater purpose. We have the Pillars now because of you. We have hope.”

He wondered if she would say that if she knew what became of Turel. Klara’s death must have put a rift between them, but even Raziel felt sick to his stomach when he thought of the suffering Turel endured at the bottom of that corpse encrusted pit beneath Avernus Cathedral, a thousand years from home.

Nogah sighed. Even though she could not see his expression she must have sensed his dismay. She lowered herself onto the ground, her limbs lazily stretched out in a way that made her look more animal than vampire. Her ears remained attentive, as though she anticipated a long conversation and wished to make herself comfortable.

"You are not alone. Zilah seized control of my clan after Turel vanished and exiled or killed any she deemed a threat, including my harem sisters. I still don’t understand why she turned on us. We lost so many after the war with Dumah, what purpose did it serve to kill our own? The other exiles and I spent two hundred years wandering the wasteland, no place to call home. Even if we could return, it would never be the same. I am not the same. Nosgoth sanded away my innocence."

Raziel remembered Zilah. She had been among the last human rebels at the end of Kain’s conquest. Turel turned her shortly thereafter and named her his queen, his untouchable war trophy. Over time they developed a genuine affection for one another. Centuries of opulence had not tempered her thirst for war, apparently.

“At least some of your clan survived,” he offered, sitting with her on the ground.

"Their company is not always a blessing."

"Your's is. For once I feel like I can breathe without the world ending."

Nogah flustered and Raziel smiled. This almost felt like reuniting with one of his own children. Although only a slave, for a time she had been an important person in his household.

He wrapped the scarf around her neck and asked for a happy memory. Whenever he thought of his clan he thought only of death, but that was not what he wanted to remember. Nogah recounted her first visit to his lands as a vampire, one year after Turel made her his wife. She returned with Turel and his harem to watch their sons compete in Raziel's coliseum. The reunion with Klara was the highlight of her visit. They spent hours together, touring familiar surroundings, talking and sometimes touching or holding hands, like sisters. Klara taught her to play the harp.

Raziel listened with a small, taut smile, saying little or nothing. Her words became precious treasure. He hoarded every one.


	3. The Nature Guardian

The infant Nature Guardian writhed in her coarse bundle. Her cries caused Kain’s ears a little pain, yet he took some pleasure in it, too, for such a large sound revealed the strength hidden in her tiny body. Gently, he brushed the covering from her face and found his fingers greeted by a tuft of soft blonde hair. He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, coaxing her to open her eyes. Turquoise eyes. 

Soft lavender magic danced around his claws. As he waved his hand across her face the light entered her eyes: a charm spell. Her tears melted instantly, replaced by happy gurgles. This would keep the Nature Guardian quiet and content for a while. He would have liked to collect her sooner. Unfortunately, trouble at the Sanctuary kept him detained.

When he returned from the Chronoplast he had less than thirty vampires at his command. Now pilgrims clawed at the Sanctuary doors night and day, swearing fealty in one breath and gorging themselves on his blood stores the next, a constant stream of hungry mouths drawn to the Pillars. By the time he left to seek the Nature Guardian in Termogent’s wasteland his vampiric followers numbered more than two hundred. As long as their loyalty held true, he did not care why they came.

Besides the pilgrims, repairing and fortifying the Sanctuary quickly became his top priority. Raiders also saw opportunity in the Pillars. These scavenging thieves knew other vampires would gather at their foundations, bringing blood and weapons for them to take. During the first week one small band of Dumahim vagrants managed to sneak in through a broken wall and abscond with a dozen slaves, only half of which Kain recovered. There had been no human attacks, yet. Most of Freilassen’s forces appeared to be tied up fighting for the Necropolis. If they conquered that territory they would likely come for the Sanctuary next. He hoped Raziel would awaken before that time.

Kain glanced over his shoulder at the remains of the human camp. Earlier in the evening, a large band of nomads had settled here to sleep, amid a circle of ancient ruins upon the vast plain that had once been the Black Forest of Termogent. Blood and death now shrouded the dark camp. Shakeel and Cerbul, two of Kain’s finest warriors, tied up the surviving humans and cowed them into submission. Meanwhile, one of the younger Turelim, Mumin, snapped their spears into sections like twigs and tied the pieces up in a bundle to be used for kindling. The other, Nadir, searched their crude shelters for useful supplies. These nomads traveled with waterskins and a few bags of tubers and dried meat for nourishment. With most of the humans now dead, they had more than enough to see them back to the Sanctuary.

Their crossbows, of which there were only two, and bolts would be taken back to the Sanctuary and added to the growing armory. Such fine weaponry must have been traded for or stolen from Freilassen’s vampire hunters. The rest of their weapons were crude, sharpened stones attached to bone or sticks with leather strips, and not worth the burden.

Kain’s raiding party was small and efficient, made up of four Turelim and Kain himself. The largest of the group, Shakeel, had been responsible for several successful raids on the Necropolis and surrounding territories since the Pillars’ rebirth, securing slaves and plunder for the Sanctuary before Melchiah’s lands fell under human attack. At the start of the raid on the human camp Shakeel used telekinesis to lift and hurl one of the lookouts into the nomad’s campfire, sowing fear and confusion while simultaneously snuffing out the light. It was a beautiful sight. While Shakeel took center stage, drawing the attention of the armed humans, Cerbul led Nadir and Mumin around the camp, rounding up the women and killing any who tried to resist. The slaughter lasted less than two minutes. Kain never needed to lift a finger. Apart from Shakeel’s sheer strength and cleverness, his status as favorite son of Nogah’s exiles made him a valuable asset.

Cerbul hailed from a different group of imperial Turelim expats. They were the first to greet him when he emerged into this wretched period of history, before Raziel’s vengeance swept the board. She possessed a distinctive fanged underbite and was barrel chested, even for a Turelim; her withered breast dangled from her enlarged pectoral muscle like an empty purse as she tore through the camp, her heart protected by a steel plate strapped across her chest. Around her neck she wore a collar ringed with shrapnel spikes. What she lacked in intelligence she made up for in loyalty and efficiency.

Nadir and Mumin had no history, young pilgrims of the wastes turned during the clans’ civil war centuries ago. This mission was their first trial. Nadir performed well, to Kain’s pleasure, but Mumin seemed restless. Their next job would be to shoulder supplies.

There were four men and two women among the spoils. Like all those descended from slaves they spoke the common language of the empire, albeit in a crude, diminished form. They wore fur cloaks and clothing reinforced with scraps of armor scavenged from the fallen clans. Once they reached the slave pens under the Sanctuary they would be stripped, shaved of their matted hair, scrubbed with dry stones and prepared for bleeding.

The Nature Guardian’s mother, a wild-haired woman with flaking skin, finally stopped wailing and submitted to her captors. An adolescent female, apparently her daughter, soothed her and clung to her side. From Nadir, Kain learned she called herself Bren. Her mother’s unusual skin condition caused Kain concern. It did not appear contagious, but none of these humans were completely healthy. Their fingernails were yellowed, their hair stank of lice. Some of the males were missing fingers. Bren was the youngest, after her baby sister, and although the wastes aged them before their time none appeared older than forty and most younger than thirty. The Sanctuary was in dire need of new blood. They would have to take the risk. However, he felt reluctant to return the Nature Guardian to her sickly mother’s care.

When they returned to the Sanctuary he would hand the child over to Sweetblood. She was a Necropolis flesh keeper, responsible for repairing and maintaining the perpetually rotting flesh of her Melchiahim masters, and although she had no experience with children her attentiveness and desire to please distinguished her from other slaves. Her ample, well-bred breasts would provide the Nature Guardian all the nourishment she required.

While these feral humans obviously had no inkling of the child’s importance, their ignorance was no less harmful than intentful negligence in Kain’s eyes. The result would have been the same: an early, likely painful death for the Nature Guardian. Even the peasants of Nosgoth’s past, who lived under far better conditions than these, often lost children during their first months of life. The Nature Guardian’s mother did not even deign to name her.

Kain did have a name in mind. It was the first he thought of, though he did mull over a few others along the way to Termogent. “Callisto.”

A strong name, he thought, but dreadfully beautiful. The music of those letters clashed with the bleak, silent plain. It sounded like hope.

By the time they were prepared to leave Callisto had fallen fast asleep in his arms. Kain gave her to Bren and instructed Nadir to keep their mother near the back. He did not want Callisto with her mother until he had more time to observe her condition. For now they needed to put distance between themselves and the nomads’ camp before the smell of blood attracted other predators.

Skeletal trees huddled in small pockets like mourners around their fallen brethren; their once proud bodies bent over the uneven ground, watched over by deadwood tombstones. A few small streams still flowed through the once great swamp, peppered with weak vegetation. What living trees remained looked like saplings compared to the living monuments Kain remembered from his adventures as a fledgling vampire. Termogent was logged extensively during the empire’s golden era, yet the combined efforts of the clans did little to reduce the Black Forest’s reach until Turel built his smokestacks atop the volcano to the far north. However, the shattering of the Pillars did have a noticeable effect.

The early empire used human slaves to harvest the Black Forest due to the thick marshland, deadly to vampires. This marsh also proved deadly to humans who stumbled into the newly formed tar pits concealed just below the water’s surface, products of the corruption that seeped deep into Nosgoth’s soil. These toxic pits now lay exposed, their kills plain to see. Deformed beasts also stalked the forest centuries after Kain put an end to the twisted experiments of Bane and DeJoule, the corrupted former guardians of Nature and Energy. Even today some vampires claimed they still bred.

Demons remained a constant nuisance for most of the empire’s history. They swarmed Nosgoth like locusts after the Pillars’ destruction, killing off entire species. Thankfully, Kain had yet to encounter any demons in the wasteland. Perhaps they gorged themselves to extinction.

Vampires today faced the same calamity. Although practically immortal, vampires required a steady supply of blood - mainly human blood - to sustain their strength and sanity. Humans required food, food required fertile land. The surviving clans, the Zephonim and Rahabim, mixed human blood with the blood of horses, pigs, and cows (depending on what they had at their disposal) out of necessity to feed themselves, yet while these beasts of burden matured faster and bred quicker than humans they too required land.

The Pillars also had needs. Their vitality depended on the continued existence of Nosgoth’s vampires, most importantly vampire guardians like himself. They carried Nosgoth’s fate on their backs even as they bled her dry. It was the sick nature of their curse.

Of all the newly born guardians, only the Nature Guardian held the power to heal the land. Kain, Nosgoth’s central Pillar and Scion of Balance, was powerless to do anything about the stagnant soil and dry weather this vital piece. Securing her here tonight was his first move in this new game for Nosgoth’s future.

* * *

 

Callisto’s mother perished during the first night. They did not discover her death until dawn. There were no marks on her, apart from the bruises sustained during her capture. Kain felt relieved to be rid of her. The enigma of her skin disease weighed on him throughout the night, leading him to worry it might spread to the other slaves at the Sanctuary, so he thought of killing her himself. Bren made an adequate if inexperienced wet nurse. He had no more use for the mother.

They left the mother’s body where she lay, hands still bound, and continued south west toward the Sanctuary. Her blood was too stale to drink. Bren said nothing of her mother’s death. She seemed conveniently numb.

They marched on through the day, stopping to rest only when Callisto required care. Tensions steadily rose as the newborn dictated their pace.

That night Shakeel and Cerbul kept watch while Mumin set up a fire and Nadir refilled their bloodskins from the male slaves. The bloodskin was a Melchahim invention: a corked bag sewn from specially enchanted human skin used to keep human blood fresh long after it should have spoiled, especially useful on long trips such as this, for they could be sure of their portions and thereby lessen the risk of bleeding their humans dry. A living human could feed far more vampires than a dead one. Once the bloodskins were filled Nadir distributed rations to the slaves using the supplies taken during the raid.

Kain stood on the edge of the camp. He watched Nadir lope away from the camp on all fours, starting on the first patrol of the night, then turned his attention south. The Pillars descended from the heavens in a pale straight line, indistinguishable from one another. At their current pace they should reach the Sanctuary in a few days. Reflecting on the future made him anxious. There were no more prophecies, nothing left to guide him, only the terrible gravity of choice.

The Nature Guardian had not stopped complaining since they settled down for the night. Even the other humans had moved as far away from the sisters as their bindings allowed, grumbling and spitting venomous words at Bren. Kain did his best to tune out the noise. He knew enough about children to understand their cries served a purpose, so he did not try to keep her charmed throughout the day. It would be the same for the other human guardians if they came to live at the Sanctuary. This uncomfortable circumstance created an opportunity to gage how his Turelim guards coped with the misery of human children.

Shakeel, stoically tasked with guarding the prisoners, simply stood as far from Bren as he could and kept his ears down. He possessed his mother’s fortitude. Cerbul stood on the opposite side of camp with her ears low and her tongue out. Mumin prowled about, growling and scratching his ears bloody. Kain curled his lip, moving in.

“Quiet! Quiet, you worthless bleeders!” Mumin roared, looming between the humans and the fire. Violent sobs shook Bren’s body and Callisto’s cries achieved a higher pitch.

Kain drew the Soul Reaver in front of him. “Stand down or be put down.”

Mumin stood in place, teeth bared. His ears pressed so hard against his neck they seemed fused to his skin. “This isn’t fair. Make it stop,” he wept.

Bren offered no protest as Kain took the Nature Guardian from her. Once in his arms Callisto’s cries softened, to his surprise. Perhaps she learned he had the power to make her tears go away. He put the Soul Reaver back into its sheath and used his free hand to perform the spell. With a little hiccup Callisto quieted. When he tried to hand her back to Bren the young woman crossed her arms tight to her chest and shook her head, her tear streaked face red with contempt. He backed away, keeping her in his cold golden sight.

“The two of you will regret this insubordination. Shakeel, tear Mumin’s ears off.”

That was all the encouragement Shakeel needed. He fell upon Mumin like a rock, knocking him head first into the ground and pinning him. As he ripped the flesh from Mumin’s head Bren cowered and shrieked into her arms while Kain stood over her like a monolith. That feral look in Bren’s eyes when he tried to return Callisto made it clear, now that they understood why they had been captured Bren would rather smother her infant sister to death than face the tribe’s scorn. Kain waited until the two stopped screaming then spoke to Bren with barely restrained ire, “I will say this only once: if you harm a single hair on this child I will have Shakeel tear every member of your filthy tribe into tiny, bloody pieces one by one until you are the last. Think on it.”

Kain carried Callisto away, past the whimpering Mumin. Mumin’s hearing would return in short time, followed later by his ears, yet the lesson of this beating would sizzle through his nerves each time he thought of defiance.

Callisto remained unaffected by the violence, sheltered by the lavender lights in her eyes. As he sat with her in front of the fire her tiny hand reached for the red sash across Kain’s chest. He looked down and saw her staring directly into his eyes, her wet tongue stuck between her gums, making a bubbly, purring sound. He puzzled. The calming effects of this spell normally put her to sleep in minutes. Their gaze held. Kain felt a warm tickle in his chest.

“Silly thing.” He brushed her hand away with the back of his claw. As he did so she gripped his finger with all her tiny might. When he tried to pull away she held onto him greedily and gurgled. Seeing the life in this little caused his mouth to tug at a smile. He imagined a sword in those hands, one day. Nosgoth needed more than healers. It needed survivors, fighters.

Kain reminisced on the rivers of blood spilled to tear this land away from its unworthy human rulers. When he laid the foundations of his palace around the shattered Pillars he believed he was writing the first chapter of the most magnificent period in recorded history, the genesis of his ‘eternal’ empire. Gazing upon Callisto revealed the empire’s golden age for a bronze era. A more glorious era waited in the shadows of those nine white towers - in his very arms. She would be his angel of the fallen, the dark mother of their new world.

Lowering himself beside the fire, Kain allowed Callisto to gum on his gloved claw. As she drifted off the sublime hope he found in her eyes wilted into disillusion. He felt suddenly, wholly unprepared to care for this fragile little person.

Callisto was fast asleep when Cerbul joined them. She flopped down on her stomach like a dog and turned her head to sniff at the infant in his arms. Kain cautioned her, “She’s sleeping.”

Cerbul kept her voice down. “What of Raziel, is he awake yet?”

“We shall soon see,” Kain replied quietly. Cerbul did not seem to understand the limitations of his abilities. While he did sense the locations of other Pillar Guardians, he knew nothing of their condition beyond what he could infer.

Cerbul folded her arms and rested her head on her paws, eyes half-closed. “I hope Nogah’s convinced him to be less willful. Otherwise I like him better when he’s asleep.”

Kain glanced in the direction of the Sanctuary, at the handle of the Soul Reaver on his back. While there was something to be said for this refreshing silence, he started to miss Raziel’s sharp tongue the moment he gave himself to the Reaver - not that he would ever admit it. For all Raziel’s insolence, at least he could count on him to be honest. His advice would be invaluable now more than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my Tumblr friend Lynnora-v for helping with Cerbul!


	4. Persistence of Memory

The Sanctuary of the Clans burned with illusions of the past. Alone in his room, Raziel’s body felt like a too tight uniform. He ached to see Klara, to hear her voice; to feel her thighs pinned around him, riding him like the wind rides a storm. Death had spared him this longing. That mercy was gone.

Strange dreams carried him to sleep. Raziel had never dreamed before - at least, not that he could remember - but these were still  _ strange _ .

First he dreamed of Klara on the night he emerged from pupation, his wings untested and raw, and how they celebrated his new gift with passionate lovemaking. Afterward she lazed in his arms, head tucked under his chin while he curled his finger in her smooth dark hair. Then, in the blink of his eye, Klara vanished. Stepping out of his bedroom in search of her, he found himself back in Vorador’s estate. A storm battered the roof.

The mansion lay in ruins; windows smashed, furniture broken and used for kindling, books burning, blood and bodies everywhere. Raziel wandered naked through the halls. His search led him to Vorador’s library. Someone waited for him there. It was his former self, the wraith, but far more disfigured than he remembered.

Raziel saw his blue corpse perched on the railing like a gargoyle. Stained vertebrae protruded down his back like a zipper, wings hardly more than string. Beyond a few patches of blue flesh and of unkempt hair his skull was completely exposed, as if his face had soaked in the Abyss longer than the rest of him, and missing the muddy cowl that had been his only comfort in death. He looked deranged, literally unbalanced. Bereft of the wraith blade, his right arm had been reduced to a bony stump above the wrist. His only possession was a single rusty greave, falling apart at the hinges. Grotesque, jawless, noseless, and throatless, his bright, pinprick eyes burrowed in the darkness of his empty skull like distant stars.

“What are you doing here?” Raziel inquired, standing beside the wraith on the balcony, unafraid. This creature was merely a shadow.

The wraith cocked his head to one side. He turned and pointed to the other end of the library.

Amid piles of burning books stood a guillotine with a dripping red blade. Rustling from the storm, the tattered banners of Moebius’ crusade hung from the broken windows, bearing the Time Guardian’s signature hourglass. Stuck out from a pyre, a pike displayed a grisly trophy: Vorador’s severed head. The lifeless head gazed at him with open eyes. Raziel grimaced, hastily changing the subject. “I’m looking for Klara.”

The wraith stared at him impatiently.

“Do you know where she went? Klara, our queen..."

The wraith tilted forward slightly, giving the appearance of a glare. His barren face reminded Raziel of the skull on the Soul Reaver’s crossguard.

“Oh... I see. You must be that other me, the one still imprisoned in Kain’s sword. That’s why you look so defiled. I suppose you would, after spending all eternity being dragged through our whole damned cycle over and over." Raziel leaned over the railing heavily. “You don’t remember any of them, do you?”

The wraith rolled his eyes. His head swayed as if for emphasis. It made him look drunk.

“You're pitiful," Raziel sneered. "I do not know how you got here - but I hope you go back where you came from."

As he turned to leave the wraith seized him by the arm. Whirling around, Raziel tried to claw the wraith off but his grip was as strong and icy as the wraith blade. Raziel wound back and struck a wild punch to his skull.

The wraith released him, dropping from the balcony like a stone. Raziel peered over the railing. No sign of him. Scanning the library, he found the wraith standing beside one of Moebius' banners. He tapped a bony claw against his skull and shook his head disapprovingly. Then he yanked Vorador’s head from the pike, lifted the hourglass flag with his stump and stepped under it, through the broken window into the rain.

Raziel backed away, discarding the library and slamming the door behind him. He continued his search for Klara undeterred. Of course, he never found her.

An eternity passed and fresh hunger pangs bore Raziel back to the waking world. He walked with his eyes on the floor as Nogah escorted him to the blood pen, a passenger in his own body, trying not to think about Klara or his dream. A bloodletter cut into the arm of a bleeder and let it drain it over a bowl. With the bowl filled the bloodletter took the still living slave away to be bandaged. Raziel drank his ration slowly, without enjoyment.

This will pass, Klara would tell him. She would chasten him for being so sullen. Even though she took her own life, he knew that if there was any recourse, any hope at all, she would have gone on without him. They talked about this.

Although they presumed to live forever, assassination attempts were not uncommon during the empire’s golden age. They were part of the tapestry. Allowing small rebel movements to fester underground provided bloody entertainment for an otherwise dismal court and making arrangements in case of death was part of the game, but there were always close calls.

If anything happened to him, his eldest living son Aristaios would lead the clan with Klara acting as advisor. She thrived on politics and maintained an uncanny mental map of clan intrigue. On certain subjects he trusted her more than his spies. This would ensure her a measure of power after his death. She could remarry if she desired  - perhaps even to Aristaios. Frida and Sarai would stay together. Justine would return to the military, he imagined. 

Klara herself was not an unlikely target for assassination. There would be a mourning period in the wake of her death, as was customary. Choosing a new queen was mostly a formality. The title distinguished Klara as the leader of his harem, the one woman who belonged totally to him, whom even Kain could not touch, and like all nobility she held the privilege of founding her own bloodline within the Razielim. He might have passed the title to Frida, who had been in his harem longest, or to Justine, who was oldest and headstrong. In his heart, Klara had no successor.

They came to an agreement, he and Klara. If Klara died, Raziel would choose a new queen as soon as the mourning period ended. Hesitation on this matter would arouse the attention of his younger brothers, who desired to usurp him in Kain’s eyes. Raziel would find her assassin and publically crush him, as the empire expected. He would not allow grief to destroy their kingdom. Klara made him promise.

None of that mattered anymore; the Razielim were gone and his brothers vanquished. Only the spirit of their bargain remained. The point was to keep the candle burning. After Raziel finished his ration, Nogah asked if he would like anything else. He forced himself to think of something. “A bath sounds nice.”

Nogah knit her studded brow. “I’m sorry, you would need Kain’s permission. What little oil we have is reserved for him."

Apart from his former brother Rahab and his aquatic children, all vampires suffered a dire reaction to water. It burned like acid. Normally, this made bathing a luxury. Some bathed in blood for decadence while oil served for cleanliness. Those who could afford neither bathed in dust and cleansed their bodies with scraping stones. Raziel pinched his chin, wondering. “What about water?”

The suggestion caused Nogah to wince. She knew what he did to his brothers after he killed them. They all knew and feared. Reluctantly, she sent a human to gather water from the nearby river while another warmed the coals and prepared the royal bath for use.

Despite her efforts to keep the matter discrete, the slave’s task attracted the acrimony of a few guards. Water was not normally transported through the Sanctuary’s halls, for obvious reasons, but Raziel sensed the guards' displeasure had more to do with him. A sharp remark from Nogah quickly settled the matter. "I've endured more rain in the wastes than you will find in that tiny bucket. If you're feeling soft skinned, make use of yourself with the whelps clearing rubble from the Pillars."

This odd scene momentarily roused Raziel from his low spirits. It was hard to imagine that somewhere inside Nogah was the petite, curly haired young woman Klara loved like a daughter, but he admired her newfound inner strength. 

Inside the Sanctuary Nogah was no more than an ordinary guard, yet the Turelim exiles regarded her with motherly authority as the one who bound them together through the wastes. Their respect for her infected even Truelim branded by Kain. Her legacy as the last surviving member of Turel’s harem, sans the usurper Zilah, may have also colored their admiration. Raziel reflected on how his own brothers declared their superiority over Kain in this era, with only Rahab and Melchiah professing any fealty to the man they once called father, and pondered the extent of this seemingly pervasive disloyalty.

When the slave returned with a bucket of water Raziel motioned for him to stop. After stealing Rahab's soul and dark gift, he at first struggled to overcome the memories of drowning and burning alive in the liquid fire of the Abyss. Once he did he learned to love water as much as his former brother. He hoped he could still enjoy it. Cautiously, he dipped his claws into the bucket. As the cool water seeped between his fingers he felt himself smile. Dismissing the slave, he rubbed his wet fingers together, finding the experience improved by skin.

The royal bath had seen better days, judging by the crumbling relief and cracked tiles. The bath itself was made up of a wide stone drum buried in the floor with a raised seat around the inside, allowing the bather to lounge at the edge or sink comfortably up to their shoulders. While the water heated Raziel observed an ample young woman preparing a small table with accessories for the bath. 

This scene was familiar to him. In his palace he kept a small number of slaves to attend to him while he bathed, as did all nobility. Her long hair was pinned back in a simple bun. Hairstyle communicated a slave’s purpose. Long hair belonged to slaves trained in companionship and aesthetics, whether men or women. However, long hair worn up signified that she was not sexually available, at least not to him. Kain certainly had priorities.

He approached her. Slaves generally carried the brand of their clan of origin on the back of their neck. Many Sanctuary slaves were marked with a crude approximation of Kain’s crest drawn on with a hot iron rod, but not her. "Where were you bred?"

The way she held her breath looked at him showed she knew his reputation, at least in part. Her eyes held more reverence than fear. "The Necropolis, my lord.” 

Raziel raised his eyebrows. “A flesh keeper?”

She nodded gravely, her smile forced. “Yes, my lord. Emperor Kain rescued us from the wastes, where we were fleeing after our clan fell to heathen invaders.”

That partially explained the absence of her brand. Melchiahim slaves of her type were used for pleasure but bred for skin. When their enticements ceased to delight they were flayed alive, their bones harvested, and their remains ground into blood pudding, leaving nothing to waste. That was the way of things in Melchiah’s kingdom before Raziel’s execution. In those days he tolerated his youngest brothers’ disgusting gluttony and vanity because of pity, for Melchiah and his offspring suffered constant, agonizing decay afflicting both body and mind. Their survival depended on repairing their failing bodies with fresh human skin.

“Some say we have you to thank,” she continued amorously. “The heathen attack would have failed had you not weakened the city by putting down the Skinner and his elite guard.”

“If you’re referring to Melchiah, I didn’t put him down as a courtesy to you humans.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean to imply,” she stammered. “Only to say that I feel indebted, my lord, and eager to serve your highness.”

"Do you have a name?"

"The Emperor calls me Sweetblood."

How tacky. "Try to rid yourself of that feeling. Gratitude is a convenient trait in slaves, it makes them easily expendable. Leave your tools by the bath and return to your other duties. I have no use for you."

Sweetblood left in a hurry, her face taut with confusion. Raziel rubbed the back of his neck and squinted cynically at the steamy bath. Everything that did not remind him of Klara reminded him of Kain. The Sanctuary felt like a lesser Hell. He pinched his eyes and mouthed, “This will pass.”

Raziel undressed and slipped into the biting hot water, ignoring the protest of his sensitive skin as he slid down, only flinching when the water scalded the tips of his wings. He sank until his hair floated on the surface of the water and let himself burn. His body slowly adjusted to the heat. He opened his eyes, staring at the cracks in the ceiling like holes in his chest.   

Clean, he needed to get clean. Sitting up, he reached for the sponge and began going through the motions, gradually reacquainting himself with his skin. He started with his face, scrubbing hard against the contours of his jawbone and throat, followed by his shoulders, chest, and stomach, reminding himself that they were real and belonged to  _ him _ . Not to Kain. Not to false-gods. Not to destiny. Him. His. He sighed, little by little relaxing, though the hard knot at the base of his neck merely loosened. Looking over his shoulder, he lifted his wings out of the water and considered them with sponge in hand.

A sponge on a stick would have been more useful here. Attendants like Sweetblood used to wash his back for him. He cringed at the thought. No, he needed to do this himself from now on. When he tried to scrub the underside of his wing it moved out of reach unexpectedly. He blinked, confusion swiftly replaced by embarrassment. Obviously he needed to keep his back stationary - his wings were attached to it. Lift one arm, reach with the other, keep your back steady, try to move your wing closer, twist too much, splash, grab the wing with your hand because the damned thing refuses to stand still, kick your feet for some reason! Raziel let his hands fall between his legs and glared at his unruly limbs. After he had a moment to calm down, he chuckled.

He dipped his wings under the water and lifted them again. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the warm water dripping down their sensitive membranes in tiny rivlets. Wings spread, he flexed and clenched his flight fingers, testing their range of motion. His joints cracked in heavenly chorus. Veins pumped blood from his back, awakening sleeping nerves in a dazzling cascade. He flexed again and raised them as high as they could go. Stretching his arms made it even better. He reached straight up with his wings until their bony wrists touched at the knuckles and their thumb claws caressed, twitching and rattling with pleasure. Their flesh rustled like wet silk. “Ah!”

Raziel slumped against the tub, spent. That sweet relief lasted only a moment. He sat upright, touched his forehead with a grimace and looked over his shoulder at the door. Everything was quiet. He hesitated. “Nogah, is someone with you?”

“It's only me. Are you alright?”

Raziel felt like a buffoon. “Yes, please forget I said anything.”

He turned around and looked pensively into the water. A moment ago he felt convinced there were two other vampires outside the royal bath. It wasn't that he heard something unusual, it actually felt like something he knew, like self-evident knowledge. For a split second he could almost  _ see _ them, their outlines. When he tried to examine the image it faded out abruptly. He felt certain that he did see it.

Raziel thought he must be losing his mind. Maybe the stress of living at the Sanctuary, surrounded by vampires who despised him and awaiting an uncertain future under Kain's whim caused him to imagine things that didn't exist. Yes, it was the question of Kain's intent that he dreaded most. No doubt Kain had a new task in mind for him. He felt so tired of chasing Kain's shadow, of having his choices dictated to him. The only choice he could take pride in, sacrificing himself to the Reaver, felt cheapened by this. As he scrubbed the back of his neck he impulsively mouthed what he wanted to say to Kain:

No.

I’ve had enough.

I've had more than I can take.

I'm done.

He liked that best. It felt concrete, a declaration of accomplishment and resignation. He said it aloud. The words dropped from his mouth like something physical. "I'm done."

An enormous thud sounded outside the royal bath. As Raziel looked over his shoulder he heard a pained Turelim roar and weapons clattering. His heart dropped into his stomach, his throat filled with that same palpable horror he felt when he heard the Sarafan surrounding Janos in his keep. He scrambled out of the bath, no plan in mind except to fight tooth and claw, when a Dumahim burst through the door wielding a long spear. Raziel stumbled back into the water, having nowhere else to go. Through the open doorway he saw Nogah pinned against the wall, wrestling against a second, larger Dumahim similarly armed. Their weapons rattled in locked combat.

The first vampire lunged. Raziel side-stepped as the spear tip thrust into the water inches from his stomach. Due to the length of the shaft the vampire could easily skewer him without risking burns. He raised his hands to use telekinesis to pull the Dumahim into the water but stopped in hesitation. If Nogah sensed him use this power, would she realize he stole it from Turel?

A  _ throom _ rattled the hall. The larger Dumahim slammed into the wall opposite Nogah, leaving a crack. As Nogah staggered forward Raziel noticed the bleeding holes in her chest and froze in horror. Short rations at the Sanctuary made vampires slow to heal. She could die protecting him.

Raziel saw a spear rushing toward him out of the corner of his eye. He jumped away at the last second, flapping his wings involuntarily in fright. The unexpected motion caused him to fall backwards under the water. When he came up again he saw the Dumahim hissing and clawing at himself as foul steam rose from his head. Nogah charged in from behind. Her axe collided with the side of the Dumahim's skull. The blade cut deep, slicing through the Dumahim’s claws, severing the ligaments of his jaw and cutting out his tongue, which flung to the floor and thrashed like a snake. He collapsed near the edge of the bath. She kicked him hard in the side, disarming and knocking him away from the water.

While Nogah's back was turned the larger Dumahim rushed her from the hall. Before Raziel could act Nogah spun around and knocked aside his weapon with a swing of her axe. On the upswing she buried the blade in his neck. She spun him around, wrenched his arm behind his back and slammed him bodily into the wall as she inhaled a thick stream of blood from the axe wound. Hunger sated, she recovered her weapon and let the Dumahim drop.

The ferocity of her defense left Raziel stunned and relieved all at once. Nogah turned to him, bearing rows of sharp red teeth. “Grab a towel, we're moving right now.”

Raziel nodded. He started to reach for the fallen Dumahim's spear when Nogah chided him, “No, no weapons! I will protect you.”

Raziel backed away. He wrapped the towel Sweetblood left for him around his dripping body before he could think about it touching his wings and hurried after Nogah. On their flight they met a pair of Turelim guards.

“Mother, you’re hurt!” exclaimed one. Raziel realized these must be two of the exiles Nogah traveled with. She was wise to whisper them instead of Kain’s guard.

“It’s healing,” Nogah assured them, appreciative of their concern. “Listen well, there are two Dumahim wasters with spears incapacitated in the royal bath, you must move them to the dungeon for interrogation. One of them may still be able to fight - and you must also be mindful of the water. Omid, stay with me. We’re taking Raziel back to his room.”

The exile called Omid bared their teeth at him. “You disgrace, this is not your pleasure palace!”

“Enough! This was my fault. He tried to warn me and I didn’t understand.”

Raziel wondered why Nogah lied. Omid was right, he put her in danger by doing something frivolous. Worse, he let emotions cloud his judgement during a fight. It was unjust that he escaped without a scratch.

They hurried Raziel back to the clan wing. This section of the Sanctuary was more heavily guarded than the bath. ~Walk close to me. I do not know who we can trust now,~ Nogah whispered in his mind as they passed one of Kain’s guards.

When they reached his room Nogah and Omid entered ahead of him. After sniffing the area, finding no trace of intruders, the two Turelim went outside to stand guard, leaving Raziel alone. He finished drying himself off and threw the balled up towel on the ground.

An hour later Raziel was lying in bed, watching the door and thinking about what he wanted to do when one of the guards knocked. Nogah came inside. Her wounds had healed but she looked tired. Raziel sat up.

“It's going to be alright,” she said. “How are you faring?”

“Miserable. I should have helped you.”

“No, it's my duty to protect you. There’s no reason for you to feel responsible.”

Raziel raked his claws through his hair. “Don't say that.”

“The two wasters that attacked you used to be part of a group of raiders living in the old Razielim ruins that you killed. This was an act of revenge. I'm told the one that can still speak was very forthright. No one else seems to be involved. Even so, the guard will be keeping a close watch over the rest of their clan until Kain returns and decides what to do.”

Raziel glanced at the door. He assumed Omid was still standing watch outside, no doubt listening in on their conversation. “Thank you, Nogah. I truly appreciate your help. Would you stay a while?”

“Of course.” She lumbered over to sit next to his bed, crouched on her knuckles.

~Please do not repeat anything I'm about to say in front of the other guards,~ he whispered her. ~I realize this is a difficult request, but I hope you will hear me out. I cannot stay at Sanctuary. This place is poison. Ever since I awoke here I've been tortured by painful memories, I'm constantly on edge. I can't watch you risk your wellbeing on my account again, it's too painful.~

Her face fell. She said nothing at first, thinking. ~I know that you're suffering, Raziel. I wish I could do more to put your heart at ease, but Kain will not allow me to let you leave.~

~You don't need to be involved. All I ask is that you permit me to stretch my wings. When Kain comes back I'll ask him directly. If he refuses to grant me freedom, I'll fly away on my own.~

~You want to be allowed to fly?~

~Just to practice. Exercise. I am allowed to exercise, aren't I?~

Nogah let out a harsh sigh, shifting her feet. ~Perhaps, as long as you stay close to the ground… This doesn’t feel right. If I sense you trying to escape I will be forced to stop you, regardless of my personal feelings.~

~I know. That's why I intend to speak with Kain before I make any serious attempt at flight. If I can convince him to let me leave in peace then you won't have to worry.~

~Do not mistake my faith in Kain for fear. I follow him because he promised us hope and delivered us the Pillars. He delivered you. What is happening here is much larger than any of us alone.~

Her conviction startled him. He never knew her to be so driven before his execution. ~Either way, it's important that I strengthen my wings and learn to fly. This is what I’m meant to do.~

Her ears pricked. ~Meant to? Is there not something more?~

Raziel frowned disapprovingly. ~Not anymore. From now on I need to find my own purpose. In fact, freedom is the only thing I have to look forward to.~

~You may find purpose here. We have hope with the Pillars. Soon Kain will return with their young guardians, who will need teachers. And I'm here, too.~

“Nogah…” He closed his mouth, remembering Omid. ~I’m sorry, I can't do that here. The Sanctuary can never be my home. I've changed too much.~

~This feels like a mistake.~

~The longer I stay the more I put you in danger! There are bound to be more incidents like today. Can’t you understand this is the best option for both of us?~

Nogah lowered her ears. Her thick lips pursed. ~I’m proud to sacrifice my life for the Pillars. You must promise me you won't abandon them - or us.~

~I don't know what you mean. The Pillars are important to me, too. If danger comes I will return.~

~Then I will let you practice tomorrow, under my supervision. I'm only doing this because you say it's what you need to do. I still don't like it.~

Raziel cupped her cheek, leaning against her. “Thank you. You've been a good friend to me. Please don’t sacrifice yourself for me or the Pillars, I would never make you do that. I don’t have anyone else.”

The words slipped out. Nogah leaned into him, saying nothing. She seemed to understand.


	5. Raziel is Chosen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2/16/19 - Added extra plot important dialogue and exposition to the chapter's second section.

Raziel awoke with bloody bile sour on his tongue and caked on his lips. His shoulders ached, dislocated from being dragged along like dead weight on his knees which also burned. Weakly, he twisted his gaze toward his captors. He retched, afflicted by the sight of his torn, boneless wings shuffling across the ground.

On his right he saw his younger brother, Turel. His other brother, Dumah, pulled him by his left, eyes forward. Melchiah, Zephon, and Rahab trudged behind them, silent. Kain led the grim procession along the well worn path decorated with flags and pikes adorned with the skulls of the traitorous and the weak. They were taking him to die.

Ahead of them lay the Lake of the Dead, the Abyss. The swirling vortex at the center of the falls dissolved thousands of vampires in inescapable, agonizing death. He could hear the fatal waters churning, the wind carrying a distant wailing.

He tried to pull himself up. His body was in so much pain, more than Kain ever prepared him for, yet he could not die like this. "Turel, Dumah... brothers please, help me stand..."

His brothers ignored him. He looked to Kain, seeing only his back. The black, empty eyes of the Soul Reaver mocked all his hopes.

"Why are you doing this? What have I done? Kain? Father!? Please, stop this! Look at me! Look at me you fucking bast-!" He wheezed, cut off by Turel’s swift kick.

Recovering himself, Raziel glared at Turel, but his gaze failed when he noticed the figure walking before his brother. The wraith looked just as he had in Vorador's manor; a dessicated facsimile of Raziel's former self, deprived of nearly all his trappings and even more abhorrent. The wraith looked down at Raziel with his pinprick eyes. He tapped his skull with one claw and pointed down. _It’s all in your mind._

At that moment the waters of the Abyss hissed and exploded into fire. Raziel yelped as the air singed his throat with the taste of molten steel. Roaring, roiling flames leapt from fresh rivers of magma, belching hot, dry embers into the sky. Black smoke burst from the pit of the falls and whirled above the lake, raining down volcanic ash. As Turel and  Dumah dragged him closer to the ledge Raziel tried to dig his claws into the earth, but the stone platform had turned to smooth metal without purchase. His brothers twisted his arms as he thrashed, ignoring his screams, until all his strength faded. Kain stepped aside to allow them to pass. He never looked at Raziel. Not a glance.

They reached the edge of the platform. His brothers stopped, allowing him a moment to gaze into his future grave. The bottom of the Lake of the Dead had become a gigantic forge. He squinted, eyes burned by the intensity of the flames. Visible only to Raziel, the wraith crouched on the precipice, his stringy wings floating in the hot updraft. He looked at Raziel and pointed up. Behind him, the corrupted Pillars of Nosgoth rose over the mountains and firefalls, scorched charcoal black.

Behind them, out of sight, Kain said, "Cast them in."

And then Raziel was falling.

Tendrils of hot air lashed across his face and broken wings. He threw up his arms to protect himself as he burst through the first wave of ash.

Wailing voices joined him in the inferno. Had Kain cast his brothers into the pit, too? No, these screams were too shrill, too pitiful to belong to his proud brothers. They invoked a disturbing memory.

In his home kingdom, in order to cull the rodent population and prevent plague among the slaves, Raziel employed an army of semi-feral cats. He happily allowed the tamer ones to lounge about his palace. One night he heard a shrill cry coming from a storage closet and rushed in to find two palace slaves holding one of his cats by the tail and beating it viciously. These screams sounded like that. He forced himself to look.

Seven shadowy figures plummeted through the fire far away. No, not far away, they were only much smaller than him. He tried to reach out to the nearest - a young girl - but his arm burst into flame. He screamed, joining the chorus. The flames gnashed their white hot teeth, tearing flesh from bone in impossible agony, and devoured them alive.

Raziel jolted awake. The touch of the Sanctuary's sheets felt icy and unreal, tainted by ash. Clutching at his head, he curled into a ball and pressed his face between his knees, breathing in hard, shallow gasps as his body trembled and wings rustled against his back.

Since coming back from the dead he had been assailed with vivid dreams. The figure of the wraith hounded him in his sleep, growing in dread with each visit. Was it the ghost of the wraith blade haunting his subconscious? Was he going mad?

Gradually, the sickness subsided. He unfolded himself, catching his breath. "Dear god…”

The Sanctuary must have addled his mind. Perhaps he should avoid sleep for a while now that he felt stronger. As he thought of this he became aware of a conversation taking place outside. He went to investigate.

Two Turelim stood in the hall, Nogah and another he did not recognize. Their conversation abruptly ended as he poked his head through the door. Nogah looked his way, ears drooping. “Kain is here.”

Raziel narrowed his eyes. He slipped back inside his room to prepare and rehearse what he already planned to say. Kain might have casually thrown him away once, but he did it out of necessity to reforge him into a tool fit to reshape their mutual destinies. No doubt Kain still thought of uses for him. He did not expect to be allowed to leave unless he found the right words. If he could not manage that he would have to go by force.  

“Are you all right? I heard you sobbing in your sleep again,” Nogah said as she escorted him down the hall. Kain was waiting for him in the throne room, at the Pillars.

“It was nothing, just another bad dream,” he said tersely. “I’m ready to leave this Hell.”

“Remember your promise. We may need you here more than you realize.”

“I know.”

“Unless Kain gives his word I am bound to stop you.”

“I know!” he hissed. “It’s agitating when you talk about that, so please stop. I need to keep my head on straight.”

She shrank an inch. “I’m sorry. This is a tense night for us both. No matter what happens, I want to thank you for allowing me to help you these past few days. You’ve given me peace of mind.”

Raziel lowered his eyes, knowing that she spoke about Klara. “I never should have blamed you for that. The one most at fault is Kain.”  

“I hope he allows you time to find your own peace.” Nogah stopped outside the large double-doors. “I’ll be waiting here. Good luck, Raziel.”

As he pushed apart the heavy doors his shoulders pinched and his wings curled into his back. Just deja vu, he told himself. He stepped onto the Pillars’ foundation, a stone platform engraved with golden runes written across concentric circles, and approached Kain. This will be the end of it, he assured himself.

Kain waited for him beside the Pillar of Balance, the hilt of the Soul Reaver visible over his shoulder. Seeing it on his person still made Raziel uneasy, as if he and the sword had unfinished business. Kain ran his claws across the polished white stone in a gesture Raziel found almost perverse. He turned and smiled. “Welcome, Raziel! You have no idea how pleased I am to see you alive and well.”

“That’s a first.”

Kain chuckled, “Don’t be disingenuous. We are all indebted to you for this great deed.”

Maybe he should be happy. He would have liked to feel something positive. “So… it really is over.”

“The hard part is. I confess, in spite of all my machinations, I doubted we would ever see the Pillars restored in our time. With their purification I can now sense my fellow guardians. As Balance Guardian it is my duty to assemble the new Circle and prepare them for the dark gift before they learn to fear us. Unfortunately, Nosgoth remains vulnerable until such time as these new guardians can be turned. We have much work to do.”

“What makes you think I want any part in this?”

“You have as much stake in Nosgoth’s future as I.”

“My part in prophecy is finished. Now that I have fulfilled my obligation to Nosgoth, I will be going my own way.”

Only now did Kain's smile begin to fade. Raziel tensely watched him pick apart his words. “Which way is that?”

“That is for me to discover. I’ve endured too long under the wills of fate and false gods. You once called me a champion of free will but at every turn of my journey I’ve felt myself dragged and violated by forces I cannot control. Being in this place, where everything began, is a constant reminder of that pain. I cannot stay.”

Kain started walking toward him. Raziel tensed, half-expecting a fight. To his surprise Kain folded his arms and regarded him with something approaching sympathy. “We truly are one in the same. Some curses will follow you to the end of the world, Raziel.”

“We’ve passed that horizon. I’m unbound. The wraith blade, my old weapon has left - gone back to the Soul Reaver.” He held up and tensed his right arm, demonstrating that he could no longer summon the blade. Kain flicked aside his hand with the back of his talon.

“You are still my right hand.”

For a moment Raziel saw a shadow of the vampire he surrendered himself to in the Spirit Forge, the father he once loved. The memory burned like acid. “I was dying, Kain. It was different. I wanted to settle accounts before I died but now I am suffocating under the weight of your sins. Please, if my sacrifice means anything to you, grant my request. I do not think freedom is too much to ask.”

Kain narrowed his eyes. Raziel could not be sure whether Kain’s momentary affection was genuine, as it seemed to be in the Spirit Forge, or another attempt to manipulate him. It did not matter. Nothing Kain said or did could fill the well of grief inside.

“You must know it’s not that simple. The Pillars brought you back for a purpose.”

Of course, Raziel did consider that possibility. It was not something he enjoyed thinking about. Fate destroyed him, obliterated all he held dear, necessitated giving up his very soul, and still demanded more? Raziel looked away. He never admitted defeat before. It tasted like bile.

“You’re exhausting me.”

“That is irrelevant. You are too important to be risking your life as a vagrant of the wastes. Or have you not realized? The Pillars _chose_ you the way they chose me.”

Raziel looked at him with gritting disgust. “Am I a joke to you?”

“I’m not laughing. I saw the truth of it the moment I found you lying in this chamber - you are a Pillar guardian, the Pillars remade you as such.”

In all his centuries he never knew Kain to lie. He omitted truths or kept silent. Besides, if that was a lie it was a terribly poor one.

No, it could not be true.

“How then? You would not need to curse human guardians if the Pillars could summon vampires out of thin air.”

“Your soul was the catalyst for this,” Kain said, gesturing at the Pillars jutting above the shattered throne room. “Using that I created you from nothing more than bones and dust. Why should the Pillars have any difficulty? I may not be omniscient, Raziel, but I will not deny the truth as it stands before me. You disappoint me. I actually thought the Pillars chose well making you Time Streamer.”

Kain’s words stuck him like a blow to the chest. His entire being shuddered in rejection of Moebius’ former title. Seeing the conviction in Kain’s eyes, could he still call him a liar?

“You still haven’t shown me any proof! The Pillars choose their guardians at birth from the womb, vampires cannot be born as such.”

“If you would only look for it, you would find it within yourself. You were reborn _with_ the Pillars, out of the same matter from which they formed. You are Nosgoth’s Time Guardian. There could not be a more fitting vessel.”

Raziel’s eyes drifted precariously toward the towering Pillars. It made sense. The Pillars required vampire guardians to maintain the delicate Binding protecting Nosgoth from the corrupting influence of the other realms. His soul, disembodied yet tantalizingly infused with vampiric essence, happened to appear in the one place and time they could conceivably make use of it. When he thought of it that way Kain's conclusion became inevitable. He took one step back, then another, unsteadily stumbling over his feet. The image of the burning Abyss welled to the front of his mind. Was the Time Pillar the source of these dreams? His body suddenly insisted that he needed air. When he tried to breathe his chest seemed to turn to stone. Still it insisted - breathe, you need air! Just as he thought he would collapse Kain’s cold command snapped him back to reality. The weight of Kain’s glare felt like the only real thing in the room.

“Control yourself, Raziel! Remember that you don’t need to breathe, you’re not a fledgling. I won’t have you fainting again.”

Raziel held his breath. He felt like his heart would explode. Kain watched over him thoughtfully and sighed, saying, “Come with me. There is something I need to show you.”

Raziel croaked, “What now? Another layer of hell?”

Kain raised an eyebrow. “I assumed you’d like to see one of the fruits of your labor. I have the Nature Guardian.”

 

* * *

 

Kain took him to one of the slave quarters. This long rectangular room once housed a large number domestic slaves. At the moment it was one of only a few rooms with furnishings, which were quite meager here. There were seven beds, almost identical to the one provided to Raziel in the clan wing, all situated near the hearth. A small crowd of vampires and humans gathered around the area. They dispersed when Kain entered, though some remained. Sitting at the center of the commotion, flanked by two Turelim guards was a woman cradling a bundle of furs.

Raziel recognized the woman as Sweetblood, the bath slave. She nervously avoided his gaze as they approached. At Kain’s request, she obediently handed him her bundle of furs and folded her hands tightly in her lap. Rarely did Kain handle an object with such care. Nestled within the furs Raziel saw a tiny human face, sleeping peacefully: the Nature Guardian. Raziel knit his brow. Kain’s tales described Bane the Druid as a mountain of a man, savagely dressed in hide and bone, with the power to bend earth and beasts to his will. This child was hardly bigger than a kitten.

As lord of his clan, Raziel took no interest in humans until they reached an age where they could work in his palace, fight in the coliseum, or showed potential for the dark gift. In fact, he alongside his brothers had killed children as young as the Nature Guardian during the Great Conquest without a second thought, under Kain’s orders no less.

Kain made a warm introduction. “Callisto, the first Nature Guardian in nearly two millennia. Hold out your arms, Raziel.”

“Kain, no -”

Regardless, Kain passed the infant into his protesting arms. He froze in terror as Kain manipulated his arms until he held her according to his terms. If left to his own devices he would have tried to hold her like a cat, his only frame of reference. Kain backed away, leaving him adrift with Callisto. It felt like holding a damned bomb.

The child wriggled weakly in his arms with a mewing sound. Thankfully, she did not stir more than that. She felt unusually warm, more so than an adult human, and her swaddling smelled of Nosgoth’s dry wastes. Callisto had a peculiar scent of her own. She smelled startlingly sweet.

“Recall how you felt when you first stood before the uncorrupted Pillars and beheld Nosgoth’s pristine natural beauty. Callisto is the seed of that forgotten world. She is the pure rivers, the dark forests, and the dulcet winds of spring. This is what your sacrifice was for. There are more like her - scattered across the remaining clans, crying in their slave dens. They’re sleeping in the human stronghold, waiting for us to show them purpose. They are her spiritual brothers and sisters, like you and I. Together we shall have the power to save Nosgoth, to restore it to its former magnificence. All I ask is that you stay.”

Kain had a brilliant way with words. It was one of the reasons Raziel remained so fervently loyal to him, up until the end. Now he found it difficult to ignore Kain’s self-serving tone.

If only Janos could see her. When the Sarafan flaunted their kills a mere stone’s throw from his window Janos had been forgiving, seeing ignorance where Raziel saw only malice. He showed Raziel unwavering faith even in the face of failure. His patience and compassion made him a far better candidate to guide the new guardians than either of them. It should have been him standing here. He deserved it more.

Janos would want him to stay. Janos buried countless centuries of misery and loss to guard the Reaver for him, ultimately giving up his life to protect him, seemingly with no regrets. Yet surely Janos would also agree he deserved a period of respite. No, he would want him to fulfill his obligation to the Pillars. Raziel’s head throbbed.

Kain smiled, quietly pleased. “Now you understand. I knew Callisto would show you the way.”

He was about to say something when Callisto hiccuped and started to cry. Her two Turelim guards and Nogah all winced. He looked around desperately for Sweetblood. As she grabbed Callisto out of his arms her cries rose sharply and a fire sparked at the forefront of his mind, causing him to still. It was that horrible cat scream.

Raziel experienced a break in reality. The floor fell out from under him and the flames of the Abyss lashed at his feet. He saw Kain coming at him, that terrible look in his eyes, reaching out to rip the bones from his wings. Panicking, he leapt back blindly, tripping over Nogah and striking his elbow against the doorframe as he stumbled wildly into the hall. As he fled Kain’s talons caught his shoulder like hooks.

Everything went red. For a moment after the haze cleared he saw Kain standing less than a meter away, hand clutched to one side of his face, a thick red line dripping over the bridge of his nose. The injury was negligible. The rage in Kain’s eye was not.

Raziel crashed through an adjacent door and bounced off the stone floor. He rolled a few feet, the suddenness and viciousness of the attack too great to recover from while his head reeled with muddled visions of past and future. Just as he gathered his bearings his ribs exploded in pain. Kain was upon him, kicking him viciously. Raziel curled into a ball, limbs tight against his body, wings tightest of all. Knowing only submission would satisfy, he surrendered to the thrashing until the blows subsided. Kain wrenched him up by the elbow and shoved him, stumbling into the center of the empty room.

“Now,” Kain growled, gruffly composing himself, “you will tell me what happened.”

Hunched over, clutching his arm, Raziel seethed. “You - “

“I know! Tell me what you saw.”

He clenched his jaw and straightened. Kain was right, it was pointless to chastise him. Worse, it might earn him a second beating. “That girl is in peril. I think the other guardians may be as well.”

“What peril?”

The words crumpled on his tongue. He stepped back. “I… I’m not sure. When she started to cry I suddenly realized I knew her. She came from a nightmare. There were others too, seven children wailing and plummeting into a lake of fire - and I among them! We all burned up in the flames. And the Pillars… my god, the Pillars…”

He trailed off as Kain’s umbrage died, simply died like an insect. The change in Kain’s demeanor frightened him more than his wrath ever could. A long silence settled between them.

“What are we to do?”

“I…” What should he say? That Kain cast his fellow guardians into the fire? Raziel pushed his claws through his hair, gripping his head. “Kain, I do not know how to interpret these visions. All I see is fire and death. You unraveled the riddle of my fate before. How do I understand?”

Kain replied solemnly, eyes downcast, “I saw only what Moebius allowed me to see. The rest I pieced together through centuries of study into Nosgoth’s history and legends. I never predicted the future.” He looked at Raziel after a pause. “This is your Pillar. Think carefully. Do not rush.”

Raziel’s mind drew a blank. Each time he tried to analyze his dream his mind flashed back to the scene of his execution and dissolved his progress in a whirlpool of nausea. Only violence seemed certain, violence and betrayal and death. There had to be some way to make the picture clearer. If only he could escape this den of bitter memories.

An idea came to him.

“I need to go to the Oracle’s Cave. There must be something there that will elucidate my dream.”

Kain folded his arms pensively. His brow furrowed. “That may not be possible for some time. We’re short on blood and supplies here and I cannot spare any of my guards to accompany you. If I don’t find a way to secure more slaves soon we’ll have a riot on our hands. You’ll just have to think of another way.”

“I’m perfectly capable of flying alone.”

“Denied. You’re too weak for such a long flight.”

“What about the warp gates?”

During the glory days of the empire, the warp gates provided safe and instantaneous travel between territories to clan patriarchs and nobility. They were an invention of Raziel’s own clan. He imagined them as a means to promote peaceful unification between his brothers. These gates stopped seeing use sometime after Raziel’s execution. However, he had managed to reactivate most of them as a wraith. The one near Sanctuary could transport him to Dumah’s capital, effortlessly placing him within walking distance of Moebius’ hideaway.

Kain grimly shook his head. “Stopped working after the Pillars rebirth. I’ve been searching for a way to fix them. Unfortunately, that knowledge seems to be lost.”

Raziel’s shoulders sagged. Even though he conceived of the warp gates himself, he left their creation to his clan mages. He only understood the basics of their operation. If the other clans lost their warpwrights then the gates would be silenced forever. Another legacy destroyed.

“Then we have no other choice. Trust me, Kain! The winds are strong this time of year so if I start from a high place, like the bell tower, I can ride them all the way to the mountains.”

“Do you predict the winds will favor you the whole way?”

Raziel hesitated. This was not a rhetorical question. “Tell me when was the last time we counted on the odds being in our favor. One way or another I know that I can reach them.”

“And find yourself stranded in a cold wasteland dry of blood with miles of Dumahim remnant and Zilahim between yourself and Sanctuary. That flight is arduous even in bat form, I know, I’ve done it dozens of times, you not once. Without blood to sustain yourself their numbers will overwhelm you. You must stay here where you are protected.”

“Protected?” Raziel almost laughed. “You barely restrained from breaking my ribs. A few days ago I was almost assassinated! This place is prison.”

“If you were my prisoner, you would know it.”

“I suppose you’d lock me underground, perhaps slice off my wings for good measure. I’d leave Nosgoth to burn out of spite for you.”

Kain only scowled. Perhaps he regretted teaching Raziel to resist torture in preparation for Nosgoth’s conquest so many centuries ago. Emboldened, Raziel pressed, “How much time do you suppose we have? A few days, a month? These portents may come true within the hour for all anyone can say!”

There came no snappy reply this time. He looked like someone trying to swallow a small caltrop. When he did speak every word sounded like a barricade against his rage. “You still have no idea how much Nosgoth has changed. These walls are all that protects us from the ten thousand bloodthirsty maws of this shattered empire, yet the continued existence of this stronghold depends upon the  generosity of the Rahabim and Zephonim. My only bargaining chips for slaves and trade are the sharpness of my blade and the hope of the Pillar guardians, including you. If either of us makes a fatal error it all falls apart. The Circle will never form, Nosgoth will never heal, and it shall end as you saw - in fire and death.”

“I assure you this vision was not born from one of my mistakes, Kain.”

“This is no longer up for debate!”

“Because you would have to kill me to stop me.”

It was too late to take back his words. Kain advanced upon him, stopping just inches from his face. “Is that how you see it? After all I’ve done for you… Fine. Go. You have five days, starting now. If you have not returned by sundown on the fifth day I will find you and drag you back here bloody and broken. Pray you bring answers.”

Raziel held his tongue. He remained steadfast until Kain left the room. Out of sight his body sagged, all too aware that he had once again allowed anger to control his words. Sadly, this caustic separation could only be temporary. With the Nature Guardian already in Kain’s possession he did not doubt Kain’s threat to collect him by force, wherever the winds blew him. Now he wondered how he ever imagined they could part ways peacefully.

He found Nogah standing alone in the hall, looking worn and defeated. His sire had taken out words on her, too. “Kain wishes me to escort you to the armory. You do not need to do this. If you give him time, he may cool down.”

He shook his head. “What’s done is done. I want to leave while he’s given me the chance.”

 

* * *

 

“Are you certain you want to go unarmed?” Nogah asked again, following Raziel to the lift in the bell tower.

“Any useful weapon would only weigh me down. I left some spears behind last time I passed that way. I’m certain I can find them again.” The light leather leggings, gauntlets and shoulder pads Nogah cobbled together for him might weigh too much by themselves. They were meant for Dumahim but fit him well enough.

Standing on the corrugated platform, his courage faltered as Nogah grabbed hold of the rusty chain. “Do you intend to pull us up?”

“Of course, the damned lever is broken.”

Raziel gaged the height of the tower. A fall would not kill him, but it would probably break his legs. “I think I might be safer if I climbed.”

“Don’t overtax yourself,” she snarled and grunted, pulling on the chain to raise the platform before he could protest. “The lift will carry us safely. Save your strength for flying.”

As the gears groaned Raziel braced himself. The lift jerked at first, then ascended at a steady climb. Based on their current speed they would take some time to reach their destination. Raziel looked at her regretfully. “You’re unhappy about this.”

“Of course I am, you’re asking to get yourself killed.”

“I would have gone sooner or later.”

“I know,” she sighed. “And I understand why, but it does not make me happy. You will come back, won't you?”

“When I have Kain’s answers. After that… well, that mostly depends on Kain. I’m not sure I’ll ever feel at peace here.” He thought again about his dream, his execution.

“You will always have me.”

That almost caused him to smile. “All this time you must have known what I am. Why did you keep it from me?”

“My job was to give you respite. When I heard you quivering in your sheets in fear of me, I knew the burden would be too great. I also enjoyed getting to know you. We never talked much in the old days, I used to think you were too pompous for me. Besides, you remind me of Klara.” She smiled slightly and gave the chain another tug. “After a while it stopped seeming important.”

Simply having an ordinary conversation had been a blessing. Even his quiet moments with Nogah, merely sharing the same space together, gave him sweet relief. Her company almost felt like home. “You could come with me.”

“I would like to, but the Sanctuary is where I belong,” she said, sincere enough to bruise. “I’ve already used up too much time drifting aimlessly through the wastes. When I felt the Pillars rumble, I knew I finally made the right choice.”

Raziel had given little thought to what he wanted to do with his new life. The future felt vast and empty, a blank canvas.

“Maybe you don't need to be here to help us. If the last Time Guardian lived so distant from the Pillars, maybe leaving is what you are meant to do. I hope you find where you belong out there, even if it’s far away, because I want you to feel the way I felt that day. Knowing that you are home.”

When they reached the top of the lift Raziel pulled the handbrake to hold the platform in place. From there they climbed a short set of stairs into the belfry. To reach his desired perch he would need to climb outside the tower. He turned to Nogah. “This is where we part ways. Thank you for watching over me. I’d like to give you something before I go.”

Her ears flicked curiously. Gently cupping her cheek, he stood on his toes and kissed the bridge of her stubby nose. Her heavy brow crinkled as she pulled back, tilting her head. “Raziel, I don’t think we are compatible.”

“You did not stop me,” he teased.

Nogah snorted, reaching down to smooth his hair fondly. Her hand almost covered his whole head. “Try not to crash face first into the ground this time. Be careful, the Zilahim control the northern mountains. She is just as ruthless as Kain.”

“I will. Farewell, Nogah.”

Raziel leapt onto the inner wall of the belfry. He squeezed past the bell like a spider and kicked out the rusty screen separating him from the outside. As he climbed through the narrow opening a steady north western wind played with his loose bangs. The north wind was favorable, but he would need to adjust to stay on course.

He climbed onto the roof and perched atop one of the parapets. The Pillars towered above him, rising up from the heart of the Sanctuary. This was as high as he could go. He wondered if Kain was watching. He hoped he saw.

His wings unfurled like twin blades of muscle and bone. As they flexed the wind filled his sails, threatening to pull him from his roost. At this height the sensation sent a thrill through his blood. He folded them back and breathed deep into his lungs. The mechanics of flight were not difficult. He had mastered gliding long ago and understood how to use wind to generate lift. Building strength and confidence in his wings had been the core of his training with Nogah. Now he would put them to the test.

Raziel sprang from his perch in an arc, arms spread, air beating against his chest as he fell over the precipice. As he threw open his wings the air became a fist. His wings filled, stretched to their limits as he lurched against the wind. He folded his arms against his sides, grit his teeth and steadied himself amidst the turbulence as he pumped his wings to climb. Rising over the Sanctuary, he felt the wind wash over his wings in a smooth wave. He looked down on the world and let out a small laugh.

Kain soared on the wings of vermin. Raziel no longer needed to become something lesser to reach the stars. These were _his_ wings, _his_ body and _his_ sky. He belonged here.

Reckless elation impelled him higher. His wings knocked back the gravity like the greedy hands of a child. Vital energy ignited his flight muscles, his soul ablaze as he climbed higher into the sky. Covering his eyes, he burst through the smoke layer. When he opened them again, he looked up into a vast smattering of stars, strewn across with dark clouds floating far beyond his reach.

Raziel recalled the first time he saw stars. Moments after meeting his maker, Kain, and being pulled from the stone prison of his crypt, a strange vampire had thrown a cloak around him and ushered him to a large memorial chamber. The mausoleum was a memorial to the leaders of the Sarafan Order, but he had not known that at the time. His custodian watched him like a hawk while he studied his surroundings. He was a child in an adult body, with an adult mind, fascinated by the simple play of shadows across the mausoleum floor.

He had words for all these things - darkness, light, stone. The core concepts were innate. He did not question them, even though he did not understand their origin. Only when he searched for the source of the light did he sense the profound absence of something inside himself.

Through the crumbling roof of the memorial chamber he saw the full moon shining down, surrounded on all sides by darkness and uncountable stars. He knew what they were - stars. He knew that some stars formed pictures called constellations, that they had names, and that they could somehow be used for navigation. He did not know his own name, his mother's face, and had only a faint concept of what he had become, yet he knew about stars.

The sky had changed since the creation of the smokestacks. Constellations shifted. Some stars had disappeared entirely, swallowed up by the night. He straightened his wings, ferried across the sea of smog by these high, strong winds. Sailing above the smoke, he adjusted to his new surroundings and, peering over his shoulder as he banked, caught a glimpse of the Pillars rising over the smoke, higher than the tallest mountain. Bathed under the light of the moon and stars, they glowed like beacons in the darkness. They took his breath away.

They also gave him an idea. Much like the stars the Pillars also acted as a compass: by holding them at his back he could be sure of a northward course. He wondered if the winged ancients ever used them this way. Had Janos?

The thought pierced him like an arrow. When Janos watched the Pillars fall, it was as if he watched the moon crash into the earth. Janos’ final moment of freedom had been lost in the pure anguish of the Pillars’ collapse, the beginning of the end of Nosgoth, when all his sacrifice and hardship had seemed for naught. He deserved to see that it was not so.

Raziel knew what he needed to do. If the devices in the Oracle’s Cave provided answers to his current dilemma, he would then use them to discover what the Hylden did with the body of Janos Audron. He would rescue him, redeeming himself. Janos would find new purpose in guiding Kain and the young guardians toward the creation of a better Nosgoth while Raziel could continue down his own path, far away from the vampire who betrayed and used him like a pawn. If he still possessed the power to change history, he would use it for the _right_ reasons.


	6. Against the Wind

The winds shifted strongly westward. Raziel tried to return to course, beating his small wings against the wind. As he fought to keep his heading his joints stiffened and his eyes grew heavy from the strain as his body started to sink over the sea of smog. When the elation of flight wore away he found himself less immortal than he remembered. He tilted his wings, closing his eyes and covering his nose as he descended through the smoke layer in search of calmer skies.

Beneath the smoke Raziel discovered a shattered world of bleak canyons and dead lakes. Flames rose from the northwest, near the Necropolis. Nogah said that a month had passed since the Pillars’ rebirth. While he wasn't quite sure how much time passed since Melchiah's death he wagered it could not have been much more than two months, all told. That meant the free human invasion must have swept through recently.

Seeing those flames burning under the shadow of the mountains reminded Raziel of his vision. That did not mean he desired to risk his life by investigating them up close. Whether the Necropolis’ destruction had anything to do with the uncertain future facing Callisto and the other newborn guardians, he would find the truth east at the Oracle’s Cave. He merely required the strength to reach it. As he continued his slow, unwilling descent, he surveyed the earth for a place to land.

Miles below, the lake once surrounding Nachtholm, a major Rahabim town, had shriveled and joined with a river flowing from the north. Time and seeping corruption also significantly diminished he nearby Lake of Tears, the largest lake in the region at one time, reducing it to a watery stomach pouch oozing along the deepest valley plains of its former expanse. Flickering lights and smoking hearths dotted the shore. There was little forest. Instead, sparse farms and pastures occupied the surrounding plains in a patchwork. Raziel licked his lips and angled his wings toward a pasture.

His wings trembled, barely able to control his rapid descent. Hurled forward by momentum he flung his feet out in front of him and hit the ground stumbling and flapping for balance. He tripped, landing on his hands knees. Too lightheaded to stand, he leaned on his side and quietly observed his surroundings as he recovered.

Six cows slept in the pasture. Cows were an imperial favorite, providing meat and milk for human consumption, leather, bone, and most of all, blood. Humans took a relatively long time to mature, could only be bled safely once a week, and contained one tenth the blood of a single cow, so although human blood was far richer, most vampires enjoyed a mixed diet. On top of the last ration of human blood Raziel received from the Sanctuary, a filling meal of cow's blood should be enough to sustain him for a day or so. He doubted Rahabim would be patrolling this far from shore so early in the evening. As he crept toward the pen a dog barked.

“What is that?” shouted a vampire. The voice sounded raspy and lacked the distinctive clicks and gurgles Raziel associated with his devolved aquatic cousins.

With nowhere to hide, Raziel hopped the fence and sprinted toward his prey. One quick slash with his claws and he could be on his way. As he rushed the cows a huge, armored cerber blocked his path: a diabolical guard dog descended from mastiffs. Kain founded the breed during the early empire, a pet project. Raziel remembered his arena masters pitting them against demons and lesser vampires in the coliseum. Just three cerberus could kill a small demon. A single cerber could tear a vampire limb from limb.

The cerber leapt at him, maw glistening with two rows of front teeth. He caught it in the air with telekinesis. Slobber sprayed from its gnashing mouth as it thrashed in defiance of the psychic chains straining to hold. A second cerber charged through the gate on the other side of the pen, followed by a Dumahim dressed in a dark blue Rahabim cloak and weilding a trident. Raziel flung the enraged cerber at the vampire. The huge dog bowled them over like a boulder. He hopped back and kicked the second cerber in the head as it lunged forward but a metal helmet cushioned the blow. The cerber recovered, grabbed Raziel’s lower leg and pulled, digging its huge paws into the dirt. Raziel gasped at the immense pressure of the cerber’s freakish jaws punching through the the thick leather.

Adrenaline flooded his system. Flapping his wings for lift, saving himself from falling, he aimed both hands in front of him and fired a close range, percussive blast directly into the cerber’s helmet, denting it with a clang and a  _ throom _ . The cerber yelped, releasing him. Raziel fluttered backward a few feet above the ground. His wings throbbed in protest as he flew up and away from the cow pen.

Raziel crashed into the ground. He picked himself up and kept moving until he felt sure the Dumahim and cerberus would not pursue. Bent over his knees, he cursed everyone and everything.

He did not expect such a dedicated defense. Guarding animal livestock was the among the lowliest professions for imperial vampires; it attracted the dull and unambitious. Even the dogs were surprisingly well armed. Had blood become that scarce?

He circled back to the cow pen with the Dumahim and two cerberus. Knowing his foes gave him an advantage he would not have if he searched elsewhere for blood. There wasn’t much cover out here, so Raziel stayed close to the ground. From a distance he observed the vampire and two dogs circling the cow pen from the outside. He could sneak by the Dumahim but the dogs would spot him instantly, at least in this realm. If he traversed the spectral realm instead…

Raziel cupped his jaw tightly in thought. He never fully immersed himself in the realm of the dead until after he became a wraith. Few Razielim mastered that skill. Yet he still possessed the dark gifts of his younger brothers, including Melchiah. The gift he received from Melchiah’s pillaged soul was not the ability to shift but an augmentation to his natural wraith abilities. Melchiah and his ilk had always been more adept at accessing the spectral realm than their brothers, so perhaps that gift still remained. Raziel certainly remembered how to do it. Shifting between the realm of the living and the realm of the dead became second nature, as instinctual as summoning the wraith blade had once been.

His first attempt failed. He quickly realized why - he was going about this the wrong way. Entering the spectral realm was no longer like shedding a heavy coat. The material world was his native realm now. He needed to approach entering the spectral realm the way he snuck into the land of the living after his malefactor imprisoned him, except this time he would not need a source of matter to will himself there. He would bring his own.

Color faded first. The shadowy, dusty plain smoldered blue, green, and grey. For a moment Raziel hovered in the between, his body transparent, faintly outlined in a ghostly dancing firefly glow. As the material realm waned the valley warped and waved. The Dumahim, the cerebus, and the cows all dissolved out of the ethereal blue, for they did not exist here. Structures remained, including the fence protecting the cattle, though they adopted a strange geometry.

All of this was familiar to Raziel. However, as the landscape settled into its new state, a spear of absolute cold pierced his chest. He gripped his heart, unaccustomed to this new hostility. Even though he only just arrived he felt the pull of the material realm like a noose around his neck. He gave into it. The plains reshaped themselves and darkness and warmth returned. He slumped, dazed and tired from the trip.

A momentary sadness creased his features. For so long the spectral realm served as his home away from home, the one place he could, at least some of the time, call himself king. He sighed as he pushed himself up. If that was the price for wings, so be it.

Raziel forced himself through the between and braced for cold. He stood, pausing to steel himself to his environment. On the plains here there were few signs of sluagh, the soul scavengers, only the glittering lights of departed souls floating above the distant river like paper lanterns. When he reached the fence he walked through the flimsy barrier like a ghost.

Time stood still in the material realm relative to Raziel. The guard and their dogs would still be on the other side of the pen when he remerged. That should give him a minute to gorge himself.

Crouched down, he allowed himself to be pulled back to the land of the living. He arrived still inside the cattle pen. His quarry lay sleeping, unaware of the predator suddenly manifested nearby. He scuttled up to the heffer, grabbed it by the nubs, tore a gash in its throat out of spite for the troublesome guards and streamed the hot blood into his open mouth. The commotion quickly attracted attention. Raziel let go of his struggling meal. As it staggered away hemorrhaging blood he sprang into the air and flew away as far as his wings would carry him.

It was not far.

* * *

Raziel's trek across Rahabim land continued into the next day. While the Great Smokestack protected him from the irritating effects of the sun, even weak sunlight forced the Rahabim to retreat into the watery depths of their lake or risk immolation. Emboldened by thirst, Raziel ventured closer to the water's edge.

This was the first time Raziel saw this side of Rahab's kingdom in the new age. Here he found dense human settlements built on the lake and around the shore, sheltered from the wastes by high brick mud walls and more vampire patrols. Observing from a distance, Raziel understood why Kain considered the Rahabim crucial to the Sanctuary's survival. They possessed not only a wealth of slaves but a sizable defensive force forged in alliance with the shattered clans. Seeing no sign of weakness, Raziel begrudgingly returned to the valley.

Traveling northward across the valley, Pillars to his back, he kept his distance from the main roads connecting the farms and pastures to the shoreline, where the clan hirelings patrolled. A few observant companies gave him pursuit but he managed to escape each time by flight or retreating through the spectral realm.

Regrettably, his wings were not as useful for travel as he hoped. They functioned well enough when he had height and wind, however taking off from the ground and staying airborne for any significant time heavily taxed his stamina. He first noticed this when he practiced under Nogah's watch by jumping from the blood fountain. At the time he thought finding high places would be simple due to Nosgoth's many canyons and steep cliffs. If the ecstacy of his first ascent had not left him so suddenly and dolefully exhausted he might have found a more suitable landing than this rolling valley.

Hunger and fatigue would have been no consequence in his wraith body. Lost souls and sluagh wandered the spectral realm, an unquenchable source of prey at his fingertips. Souls no longer gave him sustenance. There was no other realm to which he could make welcome return and replenish his stores. The icy atmosphere sapped his strength, too.

He left Rahabim territory by nightfall, on foot. An old road led him to a familiar location: Steinchencröe, once the beautiful port of trade between the Melchiahim, Rahabim, and Razielim. No single clan owned the town. Instead, Steinchencröe was overseen by a council of leaders representing each of the six clans. Raziel only visited once a year.

The ornate council building was the largest structure in Steinchencröe and one of the few still standing. While not as tall as the Sanctuary’s bell tower, Raziel believed he should be able to take off from the roof.

As he entered the town Raziel was greeted with the foul stench of decay. The scent only grew stronger as he neared the town hall. Crude, spiked walls constructed from the remains of ruined buildings barricaded the stairs, draped in decapitated and skewered vampire bodies. These vampires were Melchiahim; their naked, putrid flesh hung from their bloated carcasses.

Inside Raziel found more signs of struggle. Black scorch marks crackled across the walls near burned up vampire bodies, indicating at least one spell caster among the combative parties. Deeper inside he found the remains of human prisoners. Their bodies were not merely drained of blood; their throats were gnawed to the bone, chests ripped open, skin peeled, eyes gouged, and limbs removed. What little blood remained was stale and dead.

There were few signs of the defenders apart from graffitied walls and some cached weapons and supplies. He tested one of their swords but saw nothing he felt confident enough to take to the skies. As he departed for more uncivilized territories, he needed to arm himself.

In his hunt for Kain across the fallen territories Raziel used and discarded many weapons. One in particular happened to be within flying distance of Steinchencröe, a favorite until he bonded with the wraith blade, except the undertaking to recover it left him feeling grim. It was in his palace.

Raziel climbed to the roof to wait for a favorable wind. He took one of the swords up with him just in case the raiders returned in the meantime. Once the wind picked up he would leave it and this wretched place behind and fly due north to the desecrated Razielim city, his home for a thousand years. Inside his palace, through the great hall and behind a door was a Razielim poleaxe.

The axeblade bore an elegant resemblance to the symbol of his clan. A large spike affixed the tip. Suitable for stabbing or chopping, fatally effective against vampires, this weapon was once the top choice for elite Razielim guards. Apart from its symbolic value as a clan weapon the poleaxe held little personal significance. He first discovered it in the hands of the leader of a group of Dumahim raiders. It was in better condition than most weapons in the area and served him well up to his earliest confrontation with Kain, when the Soul Reaver paradoxically shattered against him.

Afterward he set the weapon to rest in his palace. Beneath all his rage, a deep numbness must have shielded him from tumultuous emotions he now felt as he contemplated returning to his household to recover it. Before he resumed the hunt he had tied a bit of red cloth around the shaft as if to commemorate something. Maybe he did harbor a secret grief in those days.

A northbound wind filled Raziel’s wings as he leapt from the rooftop. When he reached a comfortable height he began to soar, flapping his wings only to regain altitude. In a few hours the crumbling Razielim capital sprawled out below him. His palace rose from the city center like a cracked tombstone.

As a wraith he had made it his mission to exterminate the vile Dumahim squatters infesting his hallowed city. Looking down on the vacant streets and silent rubble, the empty darkness that took form only in memory, Raziel felt no catharsis, no sense of retribution, only constricting ache.

Raziel landed in the palace square. He almost could not bring himself to proceed back through the high gates. Something enormous abided beyond these proud arches, crouched invisibly against the straining walls with sharp, crushing hands curled around its heavy feet, with polluted breath that stank like compost. He felt the thing probing him in his eyes and in his chest as he passed through the great hall. When he picked up his chosen weapon he spun and rushed it outside the palace like a graverobber. Meandering down the square, he stopped suddenly, staggered forward and cupped an unseen wound bleeding from his head. Klara, Sarai, Frieda, Justine - he saw their faces so clearly - pearly hands all intertwined as they spoke their final words, while outside their children shrieked and buildings burned. Was this a vision or his imagination? His thoughts became so disorganized that he lost track of where he was going. He wandered across a dry garden.

The ground opened up. His wings instinctively flung open, the sudden lurch snapping him back to the present. Beneath him he saw earth tumbling down into a dark pit. Snarls and hisses issued from the darkness as several pairs of red eyes scattered to avoid the falling dirt. As the sinkhole expanded outward a horrid stench wafted up, gagging him.

Raziel flew for the edge of the sinkhole, the weight of his poleaxe dragging him down. He threw his arm over the ledge but it gave way. His claws slipped through the crumbling earth without purchase as he slid down the wall into the pit of mindless Melchiahim.

Ghastly vampires shoveled out of the clumpy soil. As he stood up, unsteady on the soft and uneven ground, a Melchiahim shambled drunkenly out of the darkness and lunged. It tried to bite, no longer knowing the difference between human and vampire. Raziel blocked the attack with his gauntlet, eyes wide with fright. He thrust the spear of the poleaxe into the Melchiahim’s gut and inedible black blood spurted from the wound - these thralls were more corpse than vampire. It grabbed the polearm by the shaft with skeletal, dirt encrusted claws. Raziel couldn’t tell if it was pushing or pulling. He shoved it back. Unable to keep its footing the Melchiahim fell backward, tearing off the red banner with it.

Behind him more Melchiahim started to stand. Before they could reach him he crouched down and high jumped into the air using the old dark gift that defined his bloodline before his wings. The pit was still too high. As he started to plummet back down he furiously beat his wings, giving himself the extra lift to clear the edge, but in his urgency he lost control and as he landed slammed his shoulder into solid ground. His fangs slashed the inside of his mouth. Gasping, he picked himself up and gawked down at the Melchiahim gathering below. He swallowed his blood and backed away.

It should not have shaken him to find Melchiahim infesting his home. Their territory lay further west, connected to his capital by a wide road, an act of youthful kindness for his pitable brother now turned bitterly ironic. They fled here like flies as the Necropolis burned. As his heart settled in his ribs he reminded himself he needed to watch his step. Melchiahim were burrowers.

As he traveled north east toward the mountain pass he encountered more pockets of Melchiahim. He dispatched them easily. So long as he kept his wits and avoided being surrounded they posed little threat. Seeing their decrepit corpses skulking through the ruins of his homeland filled him with a festering hatred the depths of which he never felt before. They were the symptom of the disease that ravaged his home again and again.

Every clan took their share of him. Next would come the humans, bringing a depredation even more feverous than his brothers. In a hundred years there would be no sign that vampires ever lived here, that he ever made a family here. He did not want to be alive to see it that way. When Raziel finally reached the mountains he did not look back on his home. The illusion of finding freedom in this wasteland continued to unravel.      

* * *

Once considered impenetrable, the decrepit Dumahim city lay barren. None remained to salute the faded purple flags waving in the wind. Skeletal remains of humans and vampires littered the grounds, mummified by the persistent cold. Raziel passed them without looking, carrying his poleaxe like a walking stick. Grey snow clung to his boots.

The path to Moebius’ cave lay on the other side of these ruins. As the sun set behind the choking soot clouds frigid cold rose out of the earth. This was the end of his third day. Kain had given him only five.

As he trekked he noticed something unusual near the outer wall. A row of oblong holes, just the right size for rabbits. He stopped and stared. Not since Kain’s conquest had he felt compelled to hunt such pitiful sources of blood. It had been his last resort. Burning with shame, he knelt down and tried to dig something out of the hole.

No luck. The burrow was too deep. Maybe the rodents living here were adapted to Dumahim attempting to fish them out of their burrows with their long tongues. He scowled, wondering if it was even occupied. Finding out probably wasn’t worth further humiliation. Besides, he was losing time.

With no way to replenish his energy he would make Kain an easy target. The prospect of being imprisoned frightened him more than he cared to admit. However, defying Kain was a different sort of prison. With the Balance Pillar restored Kain could track him to the ends of the world, as evidenced by Callisto. Neither could he attempt to kill Kain. If he succeeded that would leave the young Circle in a dangerous position, possibly inciting the disaster he foresaw. Understanding this felt choking.

Beyond the deserted city a narrow path wound through the mountains, leading to a secluded landing surrounded by steep cliffs where rested the legendary cave of Moebius the Time Streamer. A massive stone gate protected the mouth of the cave, carved with the image of Moebius’ divination bowl. The doors were sealed. Raziel already knew how to gain entry using the large sundial in the middle of the clearing, yet he stopped as he caught a glimpse of imprints in the snow.

These tracks clearly belonged to vampires. Their two toed talons were distinct. This set was unique, indicating a large vampire that walked on its toes instead of flat footed - a Turelim. Raziel sampled some of the snow near the tracks and ran it through his fingers. Still fresh. He followed the tracks as the circled the clearing around the cave, concentrating near the door, and finally wound back down the trail and toward the east, the direction of Turel’s former homeland and the Great Smokestack. These must be the Zilahim Nogah warned him about. He wondered what she hoped to uncover here.

Luminescent crystals arranged in hanging bowls provided minimal light. These same crystals sprouted from the floor and walls in large formations as he traveled deeper into the cave, into the room said to have contained a small museum of artifacts stolen from across time. That room was now barren, deformed and cracked by moisture and time. At the other end of the museum a pair of stone snakes carved from the walls of the cave guarded the final passage into Moebius’ divining chamber. Although the cave’s structure appeared to be less-than-natural, perhaps modified by humans or ancient vampires, this perfectly circular room with its smooth, decorative walls felt most alien, practically untouched.

In the center of that room stood a brass tripod taller than Raziel. On each foot of the tripod rested a gold orb. To the vexation of centuries of plunderers, the orbs were inextricably attached. Moebius’ cauldron, once used to show the young Kain his future, hung from a chain where the three legs met. Raziel ran his hand along the inside. No visions stirred. He might as well have sought destiny in a cook pot.

Filling the cauldron should make it useable. Adding a few handfuls of ashen snow from outside, he used the tinder he collected from the abandoned Dumahim camp near the entrance to start a fire. The tinder was cold and rotten. After much frustration he managed to keep the fire going long enough to produce water. Raziel gripped the tripod as he leaned over the cauldron.

“Show me the future,” he commanded.

The cauldron showed him dirty water.

Perhaps he needed to be more specific. Raziel mustered his authority and said, “Reveal to me the Nature Guardian’s fate!”

The cauldron revealed his muddy reflection. Raziel slumped against the tripod and lamented, “Fate, why do you torment me? I’m already too late to return to the Pillars in time. If I could just give that bastard what he wants he might finally let me live in peace.”

If only he arrived here sooner he would have time to experiment. On his second day of travel, out of desperation, he had tried to access his bat form. The spell failed him. Whether he had forgotten how to cast it or this form was no longer accessible to him he could not say for certain, but this handicap contributed to his current predicament.  

“Stop that,” he snarled at himself, “No one cares how you feel. Think! There must be more below, something you can use.”

As he pushed against the leg of the tripod it rotated on a wheel concealed in the floor. Gears turned within the walls of the circular room causing them to rotate around the base, blocking the entrance behind him and opening a path to the secret complex deeper within.

The complex was shaped like a vertical cylinder divided into floors. Stairs and hallways branched off from the main shaft and circled back to the center, some connected by elevators that now lay silent. A massive clockwork mechanism made up the backbone of the entire facility, visible in the center of the rotunda on every floor. There was a gap of a few feet between the floor and the device, separated by a thin railing, and slumbering at the bottom of that well was the Chronoplast, Moebius’ grand time machine. To one side of the room, near an inoperable elevators, Raziel recognized the corroded statue of an old man holding a staff with an orb. He paused to look at it.

Moebius the Time Streamer, Raziel’s human predecessor. He had met the man in person before. Moebius’ intentions for Nosgoth had been malevolent long before the corruption of the Pillars, a reminder that however the Pillars chose their Guardians it was not for purity of heart. Now only this cold statue remained, the last evidence of the man who conspired to eradicate vampires by twisting prophecy to his will, derailing the true destinies of both Raziel and Kain, and inadvertently inviting the Hylden into Nosgoth.

He felt no kinship with this man. Indeed, he loathed him. By selfishly tampering with history, devoting himself to the rapacious will of a false god, Moebius asserted himself as the prime cause of Nosgoth’s suffering. He nearly destroyed the world.

Since leaving the Sanctuary Raziel had been considering how he wanted to use these powers. Fulfilling his promise to Nogah came first. Once he mastered his visions he thought he wanted to find a way of rescuing Janos Audron, but passing through his old home left his mind torn. Klara deserved saving, too. He could not think of a single vampire among his inner circle who deserved less.

Raziel began the search by retracing his steps. Perhaps in his dogged pursuit of Kain he missed something important. Most rooms were barren. One contained space for a hearth and a few other amenities, although no trappings of human habitation remained.

Half-way down Raziel found a large hall with a vaulted ceiling supported by thick columns. There were two floors. The upper floor consisted of a walkway around the perimeter with oval balconies extending from either side. On the lower floor the ground was black, different from other parts of the complex. Black marks climbed up the walls like flames. Here and there he found fragments of charred wood. Under the balcony he found a warped metal plaque engraved with letters and numbers. A library?

Kain must have come here first, centuries ago. Once he pilfered the knowledge he needed must have destroyed the rest, perhaps out of greed or perhaps to stop it from being used against him. That bastard never ceased from finding new ways to torment him. In any case, Moebius’ library was of no use to him now. He needed to press on.

Hunger and vexation pursued him as he descended deeper into the facility. When he came to the chamber where he had seen his history laid out before him, deep underground near the Chronoplast, he found the device inoperable. Instead of a pulsating field of stars he saw only a cracked stone wall surrounded by a broken iron frame.

On the same level, tightly sealed behind a stone door, he discovered a repository of arcane star maps stored in bronze casings. One case had been opened recently. Again, Raziel presumed Kain. He tried to read the open chart. By happenstance, Raziel had dabbled in astronomy as a young vampire. Unfortunately, this one was well beyond his comprehension.

As he put it back something cracked beneath his foot. He stepped back, bending over to examine the object. The device resembled a golden astrolabe, about the size of a pocket watch. Its backdrop was composed of some odd red material similar to obsidian in texture. In Kain’s tales Moebius used some sort of small device to hurl him fifty years back in time for the assassination of the Nemesis, then called William the Just, one of the key moves in the former time guardian’s grand plan. Raziel recalled how the device activated of its own accord.

He stepped around the device, wisely choosing not to touch it, but after a few steps he returned and gently lifted it off the ground. On second thought, it might prove useful in the future. He decided to put it somewhere he could find it again.

Finally, Raziel came to the Chronoplast itself. The Chronoplast was a domical chamber divided into three levels held up by arching columns of white marble, each level rising further behind the last. On the highest level was a round gate, currently inactive. Complex brass dials affixed each of the platforms on either side of the stairway leading up to the gate and on either side of the chamber’s entry, a total of twelve. From the ceiling, awash in a twinkling starscape, there hung an arcane mechanism composed of three pincher-like, mechanical arms embraced around a glowing, yellow-green orb.

Dark splotches of dried blood speckled the floor. These stains were the waste of his final confrontation with Kain before his sire lured him into the past and the web of deceit entrapping their true destinies. To Raziel, that battle seemed like lifetimes ago. When he tried to recall the white-hot rage that propelled him in pursuit of Kain, the effort left him drained. How little he understood, then and now.

Sinking to the floor below the Chronoplast’s sleeping gate, Raziel sat on the bottom step with his weapon across his knees. Despite traveling so far from the Sanctuary of the Clans his mind felt no less chaotic. Perhaps it was even moreso. He hoped it was only hunger making him feel this way.

Having combed every inch of Moebius’ complex, coming up empty, he concluded that his only hope lay in the ashes of the library he believed burned down by Kain. He doubted any of the stolen books remained in Kain’s possession. One final option remained: the Chronoplast. He needed to travel to a time when Moebius’ library stood in tact. This solution would come with the added benefit of extending Kain’s ultimatum practically indefinitely. He would have time to feed, time to learn, and time to rest. Only, he needed to be reasonably certain of  _ when _ he was going.

As a wraith Raziel had experimented with other time streaming chambers. They were far less complex than the Chronoplast, however he still relied on fate to guide his hand. Now all the ancient prophecies had run their course. Without knowledge or destiny behind him, would he be forced to trust in blind luck? Running afoul of Moebius could cut his plan and Nosgoth’s future drastically short.

Raziel wracked his brain for every scrap of knowledge he already possessed about time travel. He thought back to the first time he stepped through that gate, where and when he arrived. Assuming Kain had not revisited the Chronoplast since returning to the present era, the time dials should still be set to the day of Ariel’s murder, when Moebius still lived. That was the common sense conclusion. Of course, time machines did not run on common sense.

He pondered the defunct warp gates that once connected distant parts of the empire. According to the Razielim warpwrights the gates functioned synchronously regardless of physical distance. For example, when he activated the gate in his palace to visit the Sanctuary of the Clans, the Sanctuary’s gate would respond by simultaneously and automatically opening a portal to the Razielim capital. In other words, they created linked mirror images.

If the Chronoplast functioned across time the way the warp gates functioned across space, that meant that the settings Kain used on the Chronoplast in the past would be inverted in the present. By activating the Chronoplast without touching the dials, it should transport him back to the exact moment Kain left Nosgoth’s history, thirty years after the Pillars’ corruption and after Moebius’ death.

Raziel brought the open scroll from the repository to the Chronoplast. Studying it now, the symbols he did not understand before were clarified as settings on the dials. He could reasonably assume that this scroll contained the settings Kain used on their first excursion. They looked different now, with some dials differing more than others. If only he knew what each of the dials represented. Getting a hunch, he checked the canister and found what looked like a date etched onto the lid. His blood surged with inspired vigor. The breakthrough was so close he could almost touch it. He flew up the steps and ran to the repository and scoured the shelves for a canister with a date thirty years ahead of the first, praying to whatever gods may be that he would find it here. Praise be, there it was! He hurried back and unfurled the scroll in front of the dials.

A perfect match, more or less. His plan could work!

Unseen gears whirled and the air hummed with arcane power. Strange mechanisms stirred, causing the inside of the gate to churn like water and glow white. Raziel backed away from the lever and watched as the planetarium spun to life with static and thunder. A bolt of electricity leapt from the central orb and struck the lemniscate above the gate. White light burst from the portal with a ghostly wail. It reached out and closed like a fist before retracting into the passage, a puncture through time. Raziel took his poleaxe approached the gate, shielding his eyes from the tunnel of swirling light with a smile. White mist swirled around his boots and his flesh prickled as he stepped across the threshold where strange forces whisked him backward through time.


	7. Time Streaming

Fifteen hundred years ago the silent Chronoplast sprang to life. Dials turned, metallic arms swung into position, and the planetarium began to spin, faster and faster. Green lighting jolted from the device, striking the lemniscate above the gate. 

Eerie winds played with Raziel’s hair as landed on the other side of the time gate. The chamber rumbled softly as it drained of power, the planetarium slowed to a stop, and the portal closed behind him with a soft hiss. As he descended the stairs, the end of his poleaxe clicking against the stone, he noted the change in the dials. No sign of Moebius.

Raziel unsealed the doors and stepped into the hall. He gripped the poleaxe steadily in both hands. Everything seemed quiet. As he crept up the circuitous stairs his nose scrunched up from a horrid acidic odor. Near the top of the stairs he came to an abrupt stop. Only a few feet away, the body of a grey demon lay in a pool of stale green blood. The demon was about twice Raziel’s size, body made up of a spindly grey exoskeleton, sturdy arms with pincer-like claws, each one the length and width of a longsword, and a head resembling a bull skull. Keeping his distance, Raziel prodded it with the staff of his poleaxe. Definitely dead. He grabbed one of the bony stalks on its back, now safe to touch, and rolled the body onto its side. Foul blood oozed from the jagged gashes across its chest, indicating recent death, along with the stench of burnt flesh. These wounds were consistent with the Soul Reaver. The three other demons strewn about the area suffered similar marks. Raziel grimaced in vindication. This could only be Kain’s handywork.

So the Hylden sent their dogs after Kain. They must have intended to stop him from returning to Nosgoth’s present with the purified Soul Reaver, but they clearly underestimated him - underestimated  _ them _ . His eyes twinged in dismay of that misplaced nostalgia.

Unfortunately, Raziel would find no sustenance here. Pure demon blood was toxic to vampires. It might satiate him for a few minutes before its detriments drained him of his stamina and sanity, like a human succumbing to salt water poisoning.

As he moved on he wondered what he would discover in Moebius’ library in this era. Learning how to interpret his visions would satisfy Kain and ensure the future safety of the Pillars, but what about the Chronoplast itself? Once he mastered that he could travel to any time he desired. He could visit Klara and his harem again. What he would not give to feel their tender touches, to lie among them in the tangled garden of their love, breathing in their sweet perfumes. His body tensed, overcome with longing. He stopped in the hall and closed his eyes, momentarily forgetting his hunger in place of loss and desire.

Would it be wrong to save them first? Surely no one could blame him for wanting that. No, he should not be thinking about that now, before he even found what he came here for. This temptation was maddening. He shook himself and pressed on.

Somehow the further he traveled from Sanctuary the more difficult it became to focus on his goal. Instead his heart and mind tugged him in different directions. Where was the clarity of purpose he once knew?

Answers. That was the mantra that drove him forward as a wraith. He sought answers without giving a thought to what he would do after he found them. Maybe that was because he knew in those days that the future was only as far as his next step could carry him. Anything further beyond was only absolution or desolation, an oblivion of heaven or hell.

Regardless of its cynicism, he needed to adopt that manner of thinking now. Otherwise he would lose his way.

In this time period the elevators appeared to be functional. They looked similar in design to the lift that took him to the top of the tower in the Sanctuary of the Clans, although their appearance was far more ornate, reminding him of the architecture in the ancient vampire forges. He decided to forgo their use for now, in case there were any live demons lurking in the halls. As he made his way through the complex he encountered more demon corpses. Occasionally he discovered a splattering of vampire blood, still wet.

He wished for Kain's guidance now. For all the grief Kain caused he had a way of keeping Raziel on track. His feelings on Kain were as indecisive as they had ever been.

Raziel smelled smoke. He sprinted and fluttered up the last flight of stairs and slid to a stop outside the library, the sounds of loud, heavy breathing and moist crunching alerting him to the presence of a large demon on the other side of the wall. He crouched on the balls of his feet and snuck around the corner. 

Fine wooden shelves lined the walls between the support beams, each one lined with books of various sizes. Decorative rugs covered most of the lower floor, except for the raised hearth in the center, while on the upper level half-sized shelves made space for paintings of Nosgoth’s landscape. On the lower floor Sarafan banners hung between the shelves, burning. Little flames danced across the collection. Only the black demon looming near the entryway hampered Raziel from rushing in to save them.

This demon was more than three times Raziel’s size, a greater breed of demon with hard leathery skin and bulging muscle. Thick, black horns jutted from its back and curved around the sides of its draconic skull. One arm hung limp, rent by the Soul Reaver. Crouched over a pile of smoking books and broken furniture, it tore at an undefinable green mass of blood and meat clutched in its opposite hand. The disfigured carcass of a smaller demon lay at its hooved feet.

From a cursory glance the damage to the library appeared minimal. Only the shelves closest to the demon were beyond help. If he put it down quickly and avoided provoking its flame breath he could save the rest of the collection. Based on previous experience with black demons he knew it would use its flames against him unless they fought in close quarters, making trying to lure it out of the library too risky. Their thick skulls and armored skin also prevented him from killing it in a single blow. He would have to get creative.

Letting out a battle cry, Raziel charged the demon with his poleaxe. The demon lifted its heavy head. Using his wings for additional lift, Raziel vaulted into the air and stabbed the spike down into the demon’s exposed jugular. This maneuver would cost him his weapon, at least temporarily. The demon reared back, bellowing in pain and anger. Raziel swung around the pole, using his wings for balance as he avoided the demon’s swiping paw and flung himself onto its horns. All he needed to do was keep its attention on him until it bled out. Hanging onto the horn with his arms, he jabbed the sharp steel toes of his boot into the demon’s eye. The demon roared and lurched to the side. Raziel looked up just in time to see a bookshelf hurtling towards him. He stood up as the demon crashed into them, throwing him to the floor.

Raziel looked up and saw a second shelf coming down on top of him. With no time to get out of the way he rolled onto his back, protecting his wings, and caught the shelves with his hands, his arms shuddering under the impact as books showered over and around him. As he tried to push the shelves away intense heat rushed across his body. Raziel’s blood ran cold. He tilted his head back, forced to shut his eyes against the scalding light that flashed between the jumbled books. “Damn it!”

How many books perished in that attack? Again Raziel tried to free himself. An enormous weight slumped onto the back of the bookshelf, pinning his arms to the floor and compressing his ribs. Green blood dripped through cracks in the wood. Another wave of heat crashed against Raziel as the demon loosed a second gout of flame from atop his latest tomb. Raziel let go.

Death came easy in the Spirit Forge. Not here.

Time ground to a halt as everything went blue-green. Fires froze, architecture distorted into a surreal parody of itself, and the floor became concave. Inside the spectral realm Raziel shivered. He rolled over and dragged himself out from under the bookshelf through a crevice revealed only in the spectral realm’s unique geography. As he staggered from the wreckage he felt the thousand icy teeth of death gnawing against his skin, reminding him why he found no safe harbor here.

The demon was invisible in the land of the dead. Demons could travel to and from the spectral realm with ease, but this one was too wounded. Raziel repositioned himself behind where he expected the demon to be. His head spun as his surroundings reformed to Moebius library in material realm. Color returned, his footing shifted as the floor returned to a flat surface, and heat and smoke assaulted his senses. Raziel covered his nose and mouth. In front of him the black demon hunched over the bookshelf with its back to him. With a wheeze the fountain of flame sputtered from its mouth. It sagged across the broken shelf, struggling to breathe. If Raziel was still down there he would have been crushed.

He tried to avoid looking at the rest of the library. Trying to rescue books from the burning library while that demon still fought for life would only put him in more danger. He scanned the immediate area until he spotted his poleaxe lying on the floor. The spike had broken off in the demon’s neck. He called the weapon into his hand. There was still the axe.

Raziel climbed onto the demon’s back. The demon stirred, tried to turn its head, however its broad shoulders and horns prevented it from aiming its fire. Gripping the poleaxe in both hands he raised his weapon over his head and brought the axehead down against the exposed side of the demon’s neck. With the first chop the demon roared and jostled beneath him, unable to lift its great weight. On the second strike blood bubbled and smoke hissed from its mouth. By the third Raziel became a butcher. He hacked until the thing stopped moving.

By now the smoke from the flames was so thick he could hardly see the way out. He dropped his weapon and grabbed as many books as he could carry off the floor. Hot ash burned his eyes and tongue. He put his shoulder to the wall and hurried alongside it until he found the exit. Dropping his bounty on the floor, he ran back inside and started pulling books from the first shelf he could find, repeating the marathon. Soon he could feel his flesh starting to burn. Out of desperation he began firing telekinetic projectiles in the direction where the heat was greatest. This had an effect like beating flames with a sack of dirt. He heard a crash as a shelf toppled over and sprayed embers across the library. Unable to withstand the heat, he fled the library.

Eventually the flames began to die down. The library was not ventilated enough to sustain an inferno for long. When the heat diminished Raziel charged back inside with a rolled up banner and used it to beat down the flames until the fire finally ceased. He saved as many books as he could from the lingering smoke. Only a fraction survived unscathed. There were simply too many. 

Raziel sat on the ground next to the pile, coughing smoke. Soot covered his whole body. Tears welled in his eyes as he looked at his pathetic bounty and held his head in his hands, lost somewhere between laughing or sobbing.

What twisted irony! It was Raziel who destroyed the library, not Kain! He screamed with animal rage, wordless hatred dripping from his blistered lips. For a long time after that he sat in silence. Finally, he forced himself to stand.

“This will pass,” he told himself as he listlessly picked a book off the top of the pile. He closed it and smoothed his hand across the cover, leaving a trail of soot. He picked up another and began organizing them into manageable piles by size to carry to the next floor down. That would keep them safe from further harm until he found a way to deal with this smoke.

 

* * *

 

It took over an hour, but Raziel eventually found the controls to an arcane ventilation system on the first floor of Moebius’ complex. He discovered it thanks to a notebook stashed in a locked drawer inside Moebius’ sleeping quarters, written in the old Time Guardian's loathsome hand.

This would have been a more exciting find if it held information beyond the mundane operations of this esoteric facility, however, the notebook did contain detailed maps of the facility, useful notes on the various traps and puzzles designed to thwart intruders, as well as the locations of secret rooms and escape passages. The notebook also revealed a bath and shower near Moebius’ sleeping quarters that utilized running water which could be heated or cooled at the user’s discretion. Raziel took advantage of this unique feature to wash away the soot and soothe his burns. Painful bruises marred his ribs. After so many days without blood, his body could no longer heal itself effectively. He left his armor and clothing in the main chamber, on the dresser near the hearth.

The furnishings in Moebius’ room were unpretentious, befitting of the old Time Guardian’s deceptive persona. There were other books here too, personal choices. Raziel glared at the titles with suspicion. These books hinted at a side of Moebius' he prefered not entertain.

While the ventilation hummed Raziel dropped himself onto the bed without giving a damn. His limbs shifted and muscles twitched in agitation. Even now he could not bear to look at the books he’d rescued from the burned out library. The dreadful stench of failure was too overwhelming. He only wanted to close his eyes for a little while, to make everything stop. After a while he found a strange calm in drone of the facility's mechanical heartbeat, though it could not appease the intense thirst scratching at his throat. Unable to sleep, Raziel rolled onto his back, letting his wings splay out, and flipped through Moebius’ diary, which had been written sparsely over the last thirty years.

He discovered the diary alongside the notebook but ignored it initially, as it seemed to be of a personal nature. He skimmed the entries with disdain. The pages bristled with zealotry, reciting the tired verses of “God” Raziel knew all too well and ranting furiously about the vampires’ curse, yet between these impassioned ravings he also found passages that expressed lament, doubt, and regret for the Circle and the burden of carrying out “God's” plan. Nothing useful. He skipped ahead. His eyes widened, settling on a passage that described a nearby village. Apparently the village was close enough that the citizens would bring offerings to the cave whenever Moebius was in the area, easily reachable on foot.  _ Blood. _

Raziel flung his feet over the side of the bed, quickly dressed, and grabbed his poleaxe from the floor as he rushed toward the exit. Outside, a chill rain pattered the snowy earth. Dark clouds blotted out the stars - not smoke, storm clouds. Raziel paid the weather no mind as he shuttered the cave doors and hurried down the path toward his unguarded quarry. Frosted pines lined the well worn path down the mountain.

As he spotted the village down the hill something became amiss. Twisted, dark figures hunched between the buildings, too large for mortals, and the wind bled the intoxicating aroma of red. It smelled fresh. Some humans may still be alive. Gripping his poleaxe, he continued his descent.

The demons took no notice of him as he crept through the dark village. They lounged lethargically on the bloody slush with distended bellies, uncaring of the rain or cold. Even this tempted him, he felt so desperate to feed. He focused on counting his potential foes as he passed: two red, four grey, two green.

An eerie calm surrounded the chapel in the village center. Candle light flickered through the tall windows. Raziel crawled up and cautiously peered inside. Half a dozen or so humans stood in a circle in front of the lectern, intently conversing. Their postures were tense yet devoid of fear. The source of their courage illuminated their fiery eyes, casting the congregation in a green halo - humans possessed by Hylden wayfarers. Raziel pressed his head against the chapel wall, grinding his teeth. He needed to think.

This must mean the demons that chased Kain through the Oracle's Cave were merely the first wave. The Chronoplast was still set to Nosgoth's present. If the Hylden reached it would they be able to pass through even with the Pillars purified? No, he was thinking too small. They could do much worse with a time machine.

His poleaxe was already badly damaged from his battle with the black demon. He also lacked the wraith blade, so he could not hope to destroy all of their forces. But maybe he did not need to destroy the entire wave. Demons obeyed Hylden commands but left to their own devices they reverted to an animalistic state. If he dispatched the vessels and destroyed their base, would the demons disperse? None of the demons he passed earlier seemed to host a Hylden. Not that he could be sure. He knew so little. In any case, he could count on them to show themselves.

On the other hand, destroying this village would also destroy his best source for blood. Raziel shook himself. Stupid, he was thinking with his stomach. He had no other option. Now was the time to kill.

Raziel flung himself feet first through the glass window into the chapel. As the possessed turned, caught off guard, he swung the axe blade around in a wide arc, decapitating one and wounding three others. Failing to temptation, he sucked the shower of blood into his mouth. His flesh burned from the rush.

The possessed let loose an inhuman shriek. Raziel advanced, spinning and slicing his poleaxe through their hapless mortal bodies. As the last of them lay dying he drained the blood from their savage wound. Renewed strength bloomed throughout his body. His flesh tingled, rapidly healing the bruises he sustained in the library.

Just then a grey demon burst through the doors of the chapel, sparks flying from its many stalks. Raziel smashed the nearest window with his poleaxe and leapt back into the storm. He needed to save the chapel for last. If worse came to worst the tower would be his best escape route.

Raziel ran back to the other side of the village, dodging demons as they leapt out from between the buildings and keeping ahead of the horde. A red demon hulked into the open - perfect. He flipped his weapon around and used the pole with his wings to vault onto a nearby building. Standing on the roof, he cast telekinetic projectiles at the red demon, agitating it while he stood out of reach. Molten flames roiled in the demon’s paw. The fireball soared over Raziel’s shoulder as he ducked, striking the roof of the next building and dispersing in the rain. Not enough. While the red demon charged another fireball, he ran, ducking and weaving, and leapt off the edge of the roof onto the demon’s head.

This demon had more fight in it than the dying one he encountered in the library. It thrashed wildly, trying to throw him off. As the demon lowered its horns he sprang away with the help of his poleaxe just as the demon crashed into the wall of the stone building. The building rattled but did not fall.

Raziel crashed against the wall of an adjacent home, grabbing hold of the second story windowsill for purchase. He pulled himself up the narrow ledge and glanced over his shoulder. Too awkward to fit through at this angle and with such a large weapon, but inside the house he saw a bed covered in thick blankets, wooden shelves, lots of things that could burn. That was it. Raziel dropped down, landed in a roll and stumbled backward, confronted by an acid spitting green demon. He regained his balance and swung the poleaxe around into the demon’s crocodile-like head, leaving it. Indoors it would only slow him down. He ran by the demon, tucked in his wings and tackled through the front door.

Inside the house he found signs of struggle, wooden furniture overturned and askew. The humans that once lived here were gone, hylden possessed or food for their demonic lackeys. A brass oil canister perched carelessly on a shelf above the cold hearth. As he sprinted for it the hairs rose down the back of his neck. Electricity arced through the air as a grey demon, too large to fit through the door, teleported into the house from outside. Raziel tore off the lid and splashed the oil canister across the wooden floor. The demon guarded its body from the spray with its pincer claws. Backing away, Raziel grabbed a toppled chair by the leg and swung it at the demon, baiting an attack. As the demon’s electrified pincer struck the floor the oil ignited. The demon shrieked, shaking its inflamed pincer. Raziel hurled the chair through the flames. It struck the demon square in the head and landed in the pool, splashing flaming oil everywhere. Raziel shoved the table into the flames, giving more fuel to the fire, and escaped up the stairs and out the second floor window.

Raziel ran from house to house, setting them to blaze any way that he could. The demons, lethargic form gorging themselves on villagers, struggled to keep pace with him amid the growing chaos. As fires spread the intense heat defied the freezing rain pelting down the mountain. Smaller demons fled the village, unable to withstand the inferno. More possessed emerged into the streets in an attempt to escape the flames and redirect their minions but there was nothing they could do, for their numbers were too few. Only the two red demons remained. Finding his exit routed, he turned and sprinted toward the village center where the chapel still stood, spared from the flames.

He entered the chapel through the window he’d broken earlier. Climbing the tower from the outside would be too risky, for it would make him an easy target for the demon’s fireball. This error in judgement nearly proved fatal. As he reached the door leading to the bell tower a swath of flame swept the congregation. Blinded by heat and light, he yanked open the door and slammed it behind him. His wings beat furiously, painfully striking the walls as he padded himself down, but there were no flames upon him, only singed flesh caused by the rapid evaporation of rain soaking his body. The water had saved him. He hurried up the spiral stairs, teeth grit through the pain.

Atop the bell tower Raziel felt pulled by a cold and violent wind. Dark hair lashed at his eyes as he surveyed the area, unable to gain a bearing through the rain and smoke and flames. Suddenly the tower shuddered. Raziel gripped the rod and looked down to see one of the red demons attempting to scale the tower. No choice now. He pulled himself up and leapt into the wind.

Something immediately felt wrong. Perhaps the wind was too strong, perhaps it was the rain pounding his wings, perhaps it was his burns. Whatever it was, Raziel found himself struggling to keep himself parallel with the ground. An unexpected gust rocked his body and sent him tumbling through the storm like a brittle leaf. As he fell the water and the wind rushing past combined into a squall of pure terror, a cruel reminder of the day Kain cast him into the Abyss.

His back snapped against an unseen beam. The branch splintered, dropping him through a hail of pine needles and sharp sticks. He ejected from the gauntlet onto the icy ground. There was not enough air in his lungs to scream. As he tried to move he realized it wasn’t his back that was broken. He almost wished it was. His right wing hung limp over his side, the bone cleanly broken below the wrist, held in place only by membrane. He pressed his head into the cold wet grass and shuddered in grevious agony.

This was the just reward for his unrestrained hubris, Raziel realized. The sky did not belong to him. Now he found himself alone, stranded far from shelter with enemies on all sides, just as Kain predicted he would.

Raziel picked himself up. He carried his broken wing with one hand to stop it from dragging on the ground. Wind and rain agitated it still, but he held it close to his body and endured. Soon he found that he was walking downhill. He stopped moving.

If he continued downhill from here he would further remove himself from the Oracle’s Cave and the knowledge therein, his entire reason for using the Chronoplast. No, not the entire reason - certainly the most important one. Maybe the most important. If it was so important, why did he not examine the books he managed to save before he ran? If it was so important, why could he not simply decide to go back?

Broken wings never stopped him before. Kain would say he was becoming soft. Maybe he’d been broken so long that being whole felt like shattering.

Something bright flickered down in the darkness through the storm and under the mountain’s shadow. The light wobbled as it traveled from west to east, like a lantern carried on horseback. Raziel watched it go, mesmerized. A light like that, belonging to a human, would surely be headed toward shelter from the storm.


End file.
